


Boxes

by jenfurlee (orphan_account)



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7644943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/jenfurlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franky agrees to complete a therapy program with the new psychologist Bridget Westfall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Short one!

\----Introduction  
It was hard to keep up a normal routine when you are trapped in a 9 by 9 foot box. The first few days were always the longest. The young dark haired woman had had more than her fair share of time in the slot. From experience, Franky knew if she could last through the first week, her mind would send her body onto autopilot. She woke up each morning when the florescent lights would stream in through her tiny crack of a window. There was no use lying in bed all day. First she’d make the meager excuse of a bed. She’d seen camping cots with thicker mattresses than this battered and lumpy one. It always left her back in poor shape, so she’d need to stretch it out first thing in order to prevent it from getting sore. Then she would start on what minimal exercise she was able to do in the small cell. She’d count through hundreds of sit-ups, push ups, and tricep-dips that she could manage before collapsing on the gray floor. Her sweat soaked skin loved the way the cold stone could chill her heated body as she allowed her breathing to slow gradually. By the time her pulse had returned to a normal pace, the latch in the door would open and hand her breakfast.  
“Thanks for the breakie, Mr. J.” She’d chirp to the set of hands, her tone always light and upbeat. She didn’t know what was sadder, the fact that they still bought her plastic smile, or the fact that she knew each screw just by looking at their hands. “Aw, where’s the cappuccino I asked for yesterday? I was really hoping for that, Will.” She chimed with a smile through the small glass window. Will Jackson couldn’t help but crack a smile at her.  
“Sorry, Franks. Better luck tomorrow. Word is you might be out later this week. The Governor said you seemed like you were ‘ready to accept the consequence of your actions’. ‘Bout time after 5 weeks.” He whispered. Franky’s thin lips stretched in to a sly smile.  
“Thanks for the heads up. It’s about time, I need a bloody shower, and I’m getting ripe Mr. J.” She winked before returning to sit on the bed and enjoy her tasteless breakfast of runny oatmeal and a bruised banana. Will knocked on the door twice before he disappeared from her small view.  
She had learned that in prison her culinary ability was more a curse. The food was all prepared by an old bag of bones that could hardly see out of one eye. Everything from the kitchen came out lukewarm and runny as if it had been diluted with water in order to feed all the women. That part of Franky’s life had been tucked away in a box that she never touched seeing as it was part of the reason she was here. She always choked down the food as quickly as possible knowing her muscles needed any fuel she could provide.  
The rest of the morning was spent pacing back and forth her small confines to try to occupy her mind. This particular day her mind kept floating back to her last few moments before being shoved down here. Ericka had forced her into a meeting with her father that had gone better than Franky had expected. She lasted a whole 15 minutes before swinging her closed fist toward his jaw. The contact had left her knuckles bruised. She could still feel the slight soreness as she pressed the palm of her other hand against them. Franky hadn’t seen her father since the night he abandoned her with the woman who would become her abuser. Her mind flashed back to his words of apology. 

“You can’t understand how sorry I am. If I could go back and change it, I would have taken you with me. I-I didn’t know she would-“ Her father was a bald stout man with calloused hands from years of tough labor as a construction worker. She knew that because whenever he would hold her hand as a child, the rough pads of his fingertips always scratched her soft, thin skin. She looked nothing like him except for his green eyes. Everything else about her from the raven colored hair and olive skin came from her mother.  
“Didn’t know she would what, dad? Burn me with her ciggies? Or break my arm from dragging me out of bed for dumping her grog down the sink?” Her hands began to shake, so she clenched them into fists on her thighs underneath the table. His eyes flooded with tears. “That wasn’t even the half of it. I still hear her voice in my head telling me how worthless I am. How it was my fault you left. My fault. How much she hated me for it.” Her eyes brimmed with tears and she swallowed hard around the lump forming in her throat.  
“Francesca, I’m so sor-“  
“Don’t fucking call me that. That’s not my name, that’s her name. It’s fucking Franky.” She snapped quickly wiping her tears away. It killed her to share a name with her life-long abuser. “You don’t get to apologize. You are not my father. My father wouldn’t have left his little girl there. My father would have come back for me. He would have answered my letters. I don’t know who you are.” She struggled to get the words out without her voice cracking with emotion.  
His rough hands touched the delicate skin of her wrist trying to comfort her. Within seconds of pulling her hand away, the other one swung forward across the table leaving the grown man on the floor. She slammed her hands on the table her voice screaming out. It was mere seconds before she was shoved down onto the table and hands were behind her back in cuffs. Her vision was clouded in red again as the angry tears streamed down her face leaving a trail of dark makeup in its path. Franky could still see the shocked face of her father as he watched her self-destruct.  
“If you come back again, I’ll fucking kill you,” She spat out before the guards managed to escort her out of the chaotic visitation room. She kicked and fought her way down the hallway until they were forced to put her face down on the cool floor. Her flushed cheek was pressed into the cool cement by the hand of Officer Fletcher, her chest heaved from the effort in resisting. It was seconds before she made eye contact with Ericka who stood flabbergasted a few feet away, her blue eyes wide in horror.  
“I told you I didn’t want to see him. I fucking told you!” She spat out as Fletcher pressed her further into the floor. She knew the force of the grown man would leave a bruise over her high cheekbone. She could feel his knee pressing down on her chest making it difficult to pull air into her lungs.  
“Slot her.” Ericka stated, a cold emotionless tone to her voice. It wasn’t the same voice Ericka used when she begged Franky to kiss her earlier that day. The pain that stung her chest was worse than any broken bone she had ever received. She felt rejected and betrayed at the same time. Franky’s screaming grew louder as she kicked and screamed at Ericka and fought to break from the restraints of the two officers. Franky may have looked like nothing, but underneath the thin tanned skin was pure muscle from 3 years of everyday exercise in the yard. She couldn’t help but be proud of the fact that two grown men couldn’t take her down without a struggle. They finally had her down for the nurse to administer a sedative in order to carry her down to the slot. She never made things easy for anyone in her life. And she had never willingly walked down to the slot on her own two feet. The drugs took effect almost immediately leaving her limp as if all the air had been released from her body. She welcomed the drowsy feeling knowing it would only be moments before her brain shut down along with her body.  
“Hasn’t she been through enough today Governor?” Will asked motioning towards Franky’s now bloody hands from pulling at the steel bracelets. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy on her.”  
“I said slot her officer. She needs some time to think about her actions.”

She was snapped out of her trance by the sound of the thick steel door opening behind her. Her heart leaped at the thought of making it out of here in time to feel the sun against her skin in the exercise yard. She didn’t turn around because she didn’t want to give Ericka the satisfaction.  
“You never visited. You couldn’t have even sent a postcard?” She quipped as she looked over her shoulder with that coy smile on her face, that once that made Ericka’s cheeks blush almost instantly. Only it wasn’t just the face of the middle aged Governor standing in the doorway of her cell.  
“You must be Franky.” The blonde smiled softly. Her hair was pulled back into a bouncy ponytail as a few pieces fell to frame her round face. Her blue eyes were like a beacon to Franky as they caused her breath to hitch in her throat for the second time that day. Her eyes slowly dropped down the woman’s body. She wore a black blazer over a coral colored blouse with dark tight jeans that hugged her hips. She was petite, even the high heels she was wearing couldn’t hide that she wasn’t over 5’4.  
“Well if I would have known I’d have company I would have changed into something a little nicer.” Her lips curved up into a crooked smile as she motioned to her pink sports bra and teal sweats, bright pink underwear clearly visible above her waistline.  
“Well Franky, my name is Bridget. I’ve just been appointed as the new psychologist.” She held out her hand. It was rare that screws showed any semblance of respect towards the inmates. It took a few seconds for Franky to register what she was supposed to do. She reached out and gently shook the woman’s hand. It was softer and warmer than she expected. After five weeks without any human contact, this handshake felt like the most intimate thing she had ever experienced. She was shook off balance for a moment. It was only after a few seconds she heard a slight laugh from Bridget about how long they had been shaking hands. Franky pulled her hand away quickly to place it on her hip.  
“Ericka send you down here to fix me, Doc?” She couldn’t help but pop the last letter of her question in her throat teasingly. “Because I’ve got news for you, I’m not interested in swapping sob stories. I wouldn’t mind swapping something else though.” Franky raised her eyebrows at her suggestion.  
“Call me Bridget, Franky. No need for formalities. The Governor has agreed to release you on the grounds that you complete a therapy program with me.” Instantly Franky’s arms folded defensively across her chest.  
“I don’t need a shrink to know that I’m fucked thank you very much.” Franky sat back on her cot her legs spread with her head and shoulders leaning against the gray cinder blocks. Bridget pulled in a chair and closed the door effectively shutting herself in with a prisoner. It was brave, no doubt, ballsy even considering Franky was serving a sentence for throwing hot oil over the show's host, and had since been thrown in the slot for her disregard for doing things without anger fueling her every move.  
“It can’t be easy being down here for over a month.” She tried to get Franky to open up; instead she shrugged while raising her eyebrows. Franky’s eyes glanced over to the glazed over window to look at her etchings from the past weeks. “A clever girl like you needs interaction isn’t that right Franky?” Bridget crossed one of her legs over the other as she leaned forward. Franky could barely stop the witty remark from falling off her lips. She choked it back by biting her bottom lip. “Do you like Japanese art?” Bridget’s question caught Franky off guard causing her to crease her eyebrows. The psychologist motioned towards Franky’s exposed cherry blossom tree tattoo that took up the length of her left side. Franky’s skin burned at the attention from the attractive blonde. “It’s beautiful.” She added with a slight smile her eyes darting from Franky’s green eyes and down to the tattoo.  
“Look, you don’t know me,” Franky pulled her tank top over her muscular form covering the tattoo and leaned forward on her legs. She licked her lips slowly; it was a trick she had learned long ago in high school to get what she wanted. There was such a small space left between the two Franky swore she could feel the heat of Bridget’s minty breath against her cheeks.  
“The way I see it Franky you have two options. First, you can complete 12 hours of therapy sessions with me or you can stay in here until the governor sees fit to release you. You put your father in the hospital with that punch.”  
“That man is not my father,” Franky spat out standing up quickly and leaning against the blurred window. Her fists were clenched at her sides. “I won’t talk about him.” She added a few moments later when her fists unclenched.  
“That’s fine. We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I’ll give you some time to think over your choices.” The doctor stood and knocked on the cell door to be removed. It was a few seconds before an awaiting guard unlocked the door. “It was nice to meet you, Franky. I hope to see you again soon,” Bridget smiled as she turned to leave the small cell.  
“Alright, I meet with you twelve times, and I’m out of this shit hole?” Franky knew the importance of a contract, even if it was only verbal.  
“That’s the idea. Do we have an agreement?” Her curvy body leaned against the door jam.  
“Well, you’ve got yourself a deal, Gidget.” Franky’s lips broke into a full smile the likes Bridget had never seen. It was clear to see the inmate had almost a magnetic pull.  
“It’s Bridget,” The blonde reminded still with a small smile on her face.  
“Yeah, I’m gonna call you Gidget.” Franky took a step closer. “I promise I’ll freshen up before our first session, Doc.” Franky clicked her tongue before brushing by her out of her box. Will was there to escort Franky back to her cell. Bridget noticed him asking about her wrists as she walked, Franky held them up showing thin scars around them showing they didn’t heal without proper care. Her heart sank at the thought of this woman trapped in her own emotions. She knew she had to help her. She couldn’t let this one rot away in the system. She was different.  
The walls of the hallway seemed so much larger to Franky after every stint she pulled in solitary. She hoped that the chocolate bar she had been hiding was still stashed under her pillow, and Boomer hadn’t found it. First thing she wanted to do was take a long shower and lay in her own cell before lunchtime. She looked over her shoulder back to Bridget only to see her looking right back. She delivered a quick wink before being buzzed through out into the bustle of the prison again.


	2. Session 1

Session 1  
Franky had only been out of the slot a whole 4 hours before her first therapy session was to be held. She was able to scrub her skin raw in the shower for a full 10 minutes before the water ran lukewarm. She strutted back to her cell in her towel with her hair dripping wet down her chest and back. Bridget approached her in the hallway.   
“You clean up nice,” The doctor smirked handing Frankie an envelope.   
“Thanks, doc. I see we’re giving gifts already? I don’t have anything to give you unless…” Franky’s hazel eyes glanced down her chest to her dice tattoo lay just above her left breast.   
“That’s our schedule of appointments and some paperwork to fill out before our first session today. I recommend being on time or early to everyone of them.”  
“Or else what, Gidge? Will you punish me?” Franky laughed.  
“Or else these therapy sessions won’t have as much of an impact on your parole paperwork.” Bridget handed over the forms to Franky’s free hand that wasn’t holding up her towel.   
“This will help me get my parole?” Franky dropped the sultry tone adapting to a very serious one, her eyes narrowing. She always took her freedom more seriously than anything.   
“Absolutely. If an inmate convicted of a violent crime completes therapy sessions, it shows very highly among the board members.” Bridget pointed to the paperwork. “So be sure to be in my office by 3pm today, alright?”  
“Thank you. I will be there.” Franky nodded seriously her eyes narrowing on Bridget’s. “I mean it, thank you.” Franky brushed her hand over Bridget's elbow as her green eyes burned the psychologist with their intensity.   
“I’ll be seeing you later, Franky.” At her final words, Franky could have swore she saw Bridget’s pale blue eyes flicker over her towel clad form. Her cheeks burned at the attention. She couldn’t help the smile creep up as she padded back to her cell. She fell onto the bed reviewing the schedule as well as the paperwork she needed to fill out before their first session. Franky had accepted every advice from the screws about getting her parole as soon as possible. Most of them just scoffed in her face. But on the rare occasion that they actually offered any leadership positions, Franky took them very seriously. She’d been trying to replace the old bag in the kitchen for years now. Instead she settled on helping others find the right education program for them, and she also gave great legal advice from her advanced studies in the subject. Some of the women in here were real victims of the system, so she made it her responsibility to help them in anyway she could. Even if it meant filling out appeals late at night while the rest of her block slept, she’d do it for those who truly deserved it. It made her sick to see some of the injustices performed by people who held positions of power, people who were criminals of a different sense. She believed in justice and fairness. It was something she believed so strongly in she planned to pursue it as soon as she left the four concrete walls of Wentworth Correctional Facility. Her first act was to take down the Foster Farm she spent 7 years of hell in with tens of other foster kids.   
Franky managed to visit with her girls at lunch and catch up on the happenings of the last five weeks while she was in the slot. Apparently Bea had all but secured the role of top dog in Franky’s absence, and she was running a dry prison. Franky could see the desperation on the junkies’ faces after weeks without any gear flowing through.   
“Give me a week and we’ll be back up and running,” Franky said leaning back in her chair. None of the members of her table doubted that she wouldn’t re-secure her role no matter what the price. She made eye contact with Bea, and nodded across the dining area to her. Bea nodded her head back slowly. The girls and her spent time in the sun at one of the picnic tables that was spread throughout the yard. Franky sat silently leaning her elbows back against the table and tilting her face upwards towards the sky. The sun felt so good against her paler skin. It had been three long years since Franky had been able to run outside along the beach with the sun on her shoulders. It was one of the things she missed the most from her life outside. Her ability to shut down her thoughts and completely get lost in breathing and pumping one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t often she recalled things from her life outside anymore after this long in, but when she did, it hit her like a ton of bricks before she could get the memories back in the box and shut them away tightly. Boredom drove Franky to dangerous acts because it was nearly impossible to keep her thoughts at peace in her mind.   
“Doyle, you’re due in Westfall’s office.” Vera’s clipped voice interrupted Franky’s thoughts. She bounced up nodding a quick goodbye to her girls.   
Vera was silent on the walk throughout the corridors. Franky had wished she brought her sweatshirt with her. The air conditioning always chilled Franky down to the bone after she’d been in the sun. Before she knew it they were at the office of Bridget Westfall, as it stated clearly on the frosted glass door. Vera knocked twice before opening the door for Franky to enter.   
She hesitated for two seconds before her body stepped over the threshold into the cozy office. There were abstract paintings on the walls of the space with two lime green chairs one in front of the other on one end. On the other end of the office was her workspace. A laptop and notepad sat on her desk along with one manila folder with Franky’s full name along the side. She noticed it was pretty full. It didn’t surprise her with her background. She wondered how many pages Bridget had managed read about her. She probably knew all about her shitty childhood and wanted to get to the “root of her anger” as every other shrink had attempted to do.   
Without further hesitation, Franky sat in one of the lime green chairs getting comfortable. Her elbows rest on the arms of the chair as her hands crossed over her toned stomach.   
“Good afternoon, Franky.” Bridget greeted her as she rose from her desk and placed herself in the chair opposite. “How are you enjoying yourself outside the slot?”   
“I’m living the dream, ” She smirked tapping her converse clad toes.   
“I hear you’re quite the celebrity around these parts,” Bridget rested one of her hands against the lime green armchair while the other hand had two fingers propped against her high cheekbone keeping her head in place. Franky shrugged in reply.   
“I’m just doing what I have to do to keep my head up.” She admitted curtly. Franky found herself eyeing the slow second hand of the clock as the seconds literally ticked by slowly. This was going to be worse than she thought.   
“What’s that involve?”   
“Aw, nice try Gidge. I’m not giving up any of my secrets to a screw. Besides, if I tell you everything, you’ll grow bored and move onto someone younger.” Bridget smiled lightly her eyes crinkling just barely around the edges. Franky felt her heart flutter.   
“I’m not a screw. I follow strict confidentiality protocol, so everything you say in this sessions is between us.”  
“Everything, eh?” Franky winked at the older women. She watched as Bridget carefully crossed one leg over the other. Franky couldn’t stop herself from picturing herself unbuttoning the denims with her teeth and slowly dragging them down her hips.   
“Well, unless I think you are an immediate danger to yourself or others.” The doctors chaste words brought her quickly back to reality.   
“Don’t worry, I won’t go and off myself. I wouldn’t want to give Ericka the satisfaction.” Franky scoffed looking towards the window.   
“Why do you think that would satisfy Mrs. Pearson?” Bridget asked with no change in her voice.   
“Misses Pearson?” Franky felt her heart in her throat. In the five weeks she kept Franky to rot in the cell, Ericka had gone and married the stupid fuck she complained to her so often about. About how he would never have her like Franky could. Her mind flashed back to Ericka splayed practically naked across her desk while she begged Franky to take her. 

Franky had been escorted to the Governor’s office so often she could have walked there with her eyes closed backwards. She loved their little chats about the dynamics of the prison, especially because it was so easy to frazzle Ericka. This particular meeting took place close to call. There had been a fight in the yard between two junkies, and Ericka pressed Franky for information.   
“C’mon Ericka, we both know that’s not why you asked me here tonight,” Franky teased leaning against the front of the blonde’s desk.   
“Why else would I invite you here?” Ericka’s eyes darted between Franky’s eyes and her smooth lips. Franky took the opportunity to lick her lips seductively.  
“So I could lean over your desk and do this.” Franky leaned in so her lips were pressed against the corner of Ericka’s. “Isn’t that why you want me here so late?” She whispered darting her tongue out to flick against Ericka’s bottom lip. The older woman gasped in response.   
“Franky. We can’t-“  
“You keep saying that, but we both know how much you want it.” Franky’s lips were buried against the blonde’s ear as she ran her fingers over Ericka’s hair. Without warning, Franky tugged her hair hard exposing the governor’s long neck. “I wanna hear you say it, Ericka. Tell me how much you want me to take you on this desk. Tell me how much you want me and it’s yours.” She breathed softly trailing kisses upwards until she reached the throbbing pulse under her jaw.  
“Please, Franky, please. I need you.”

“Franky? You with me?” The doctor snapped the young woman back from her thoughts. “You seem upset that the Governor has gotten married. Can you explain that to me a little?”   
“Just a shame to see another beautiful girl settle with another stupid bloke, I guess,” Franky mumbled trying to shrug it off.   
“Are you close to her? I mean you refer to her by her first name,” Damn, the shrink was good.   
“You could say I was close to her. I think those days are over now.” Franky did her best to put up her walls of her own box to mask her feelings.   
“Franky, this is between us. You can be honest with me.”   
“I don’t even know you. What makes you think I want to talk about this shit anyway?”  
“Well what do you want to talk about then?”  
“What about you?”  
“What about me?”  
“You already know so much about me, and all I know is you have terrible taste in arm chairs.” Franky laughed lightly running her fingers over the green arm. Bridget smiled.  
“I suppose they’re not for everyone. What would you like to know about me Franky?”  
“What’s your favorite color?” She’d start easy.  
“Green.   
“I should have known. Favorite dessert?”  
“Tiramisu.”   
“Interesting, I had you pegged for a Red Velvet woman. How much of my file did you read?”  
“Why do you ask that question?”  
“I saw it on your desk. Just curious which part you’re going to ask me about first; my childhood or the tv show.” Franky rubbed her finger-pads over her lips.   
“Where do you want to start?”  
“Neither. They were shit, why would I want to talk about them?”   
“To get closure perhaps?”  
“I don’t need closure. Those boxes are closed. They’re over. I don’t want to fucking go back there.”  
“What do you mean by boxes?”   
“It’s just an expression.” Franky’s heartbeat was elevated. She hadn’t even lasted half hour without making a fool out of herself in front of the beautiful woman. “You didn’t answer my question though.” Franky nodded towards the thick file abandoned on the desk raising her eyebrows.   
“I’ve read the whole thing, Franky. But words on a report don’t have any meaning unless they’re explained.”   
“Is that what I’m here for then? To explain my feelings? I’ve got news for you, Doc, that ain’t gonna happen. I don’t talk about my feelings. That’s the kind of shit that makes you weak.” Franky’s mind flashed back to her mother. The alcho would back hand Franky’s cheeks bright red if she ever cried. She could still feel the stinging sensation against them now.   
“Everyone has feelings. Feelings don’t make you weak. It’s our reactions to the feelings that make us feel weak. How do you react when you feel weak?” Bridget’s voice never wavered as she spoke. Her voice almost had a hypnotizing effect on the younger woman. “Do you become violent?” She pressed on.  
“I’m not weak.” Franky snapped unexpectedly standing up and pacing the floor. “You can’t be weak in here or you get taken advantage of. I learned that pretty fucking quick when I got in here.”   
“Care to explain?” Bridget’s breath came in short even bursts. Normally Franky’s sporadic behavior caused the workers some unease, but Bridget hardly batted an eyelash while she watched the tall woman pace back and forth the length of her office.   
“I was scared shitless, I didn’t leave my cell for the first two days.” Franky began to explain as she paced the floor her hands rubbing over the scar on her forearm.

“Francesca? You awake, love?” The bell-like voice of Liz rang through the cell. Franky had been crying silently into the pillow the whole night. She could only imagine how swollen her eyes looked. She didn’t dare turn over before wiping her eyes and nose on her blanket. “Oh, it’s going to be alright. The first few days are the hardest. It gets better, I promise.” Liz sat herself on the edge of Franky’s cot patting her knee comfortingly. “I’ve got something to take the edge off.” Franky did not expect Liz to pull out a chocolate bar from her pocket and hand it over. “Why don’t you head down to breakfast when you’re feeling up to it, Francesca? You must be starving, you haven’t eaten since you got here, love.”  
“It’s Franky. I-I’ll be down in a minute.”   
“I’ll save you a seat. Oh by the way, during the day, leave this open or the other girls will think you don’t trust them, and the panic button by the door? Yeah, don’t press that.”  
Franky had managed to stop herself at three squares of chocolate before she put the rest on her desk for later. Finally she rose from her bed and changed out of her pyjamas, into the teal track suit. The pants hung so low on her hips she couldn’t keep them from revealing her lime green knickers. As she tugged on the white singlet, the door to her cell flew open.  
“Well, well, well, it’s true that the famous Francesca Doyle is in our graces.” A short woman with flipping grey locks stood in front of the doorway.   
“It’s Franky. I was just heading to breakfast with Liz.” Franky moved to leave the cell only to be stopped by a taller woman who forced Franky up against the wall which her hand around her neck. Franky could feel the flow of oxygen dwindling at the woman’s ministrations. “Please don’t hurt me, just take whatever you want.” She panicked her voice cracking with fear. Her mind flashed back to her mother.   
“Poor dear, I don’t need your permission to take.” Jacs pulled the chocolate off of the desk and stored it in her jacket pocket. “Let’s just get one thing straight, Francesca. I don’t take kindly to people who upset the balance in my prison. You come in here with your fame, and it distracts my girls from their jobs. Do you understand me?”  
“Yes, just p-please don’t hurt me.” Franky’s eyes filled with tears. Her heart was pounding so fast and hard. She felt the sharp blade of a shiv pressed against her throat and instantly her bladder couldn’t take it anymore and her track pants soaked through. The knife cut quickly against the length of her forearm and the large woman tossed Franky to the floor shaking. Franky could hear screaming in the distance and seconds later she realized the sounds were coming from her.  
“Rule number one in here, Francesca. Don’t beg it makes you look foolish. I don’t think I’d bother telling anyone about this. Unless you want to start a war. Name’s Jacs by the way.” The older woman smiled and shut the door behind her. Franky still shaking crawled her way to the latrine where she began to get sick instantly. It was Liz that found her on the floor hours later and took her into her arms as sobs wracked her body. The endless years of abuse from her mother were nothing compared to the fear she had felt. 

Before Franky had realized what had happened, she was sitting back in the disgusting lime green chair, her fingertips still playing over the length of scar that Jacs had left from their encounter.   
“That’s when I decided I wasn’t going to take any shit from anybody. I’d do what I needed to do. I would never feel like that weak little girl in her cell again.”   
“You are not weak, Franky. You are a very strong person, especially for sharing such a terrible memory with me. It took a lot of courage to do that.”  
“Not the only thing I’d like to share with ya, Gidge.” Franky winked back to her flirtatious ways. She glanced at the clock realizing she had overstayed her hour. “Are we done here?”  
“Yes, I think we should call it a day. I’ll see you next week, Franky.” Bridget stood up to lead Franky out of her office. Franky walked back to her cell to spend the few hours before dinner laying flat on her back starting at the ceiling of her cell. She’d never told anyone aside from Liz about her first day and her first fight with Jacs, so why did she feel the need to open up now? Was it something about the way the psychologist’s voice didn’t sound condescending when she spoke? She didn’t show any sign of surprise at the things Franky had shared. Instead she listened intently. Never once did she question whether or not the things that Franky was saying were true or not like the other staff. All Franky knew was that she didn’t like it, and she was determined to make sure that the blonde didn’t have that effect on her next week.


	3. Session 2

Session 2  
Franky had fallen back into her normal routine that she had practiced for 3 years at Wentworth. It hadn’t taken more than a few days for her to get her laundry room supply back up and running again right underneath the nose of Red. Franky hated the drugs and what they did to the women, but it was hell to see the women clean. She needed the money for her life on the outside. She was determined not to be one of those girls who ended up back here within a matter of months. When she left Wentworth, it would be for good. She’d had gotten caught up in her studies in the library, and nearly forgot her appointment with Bridget. She hustled down the corridor with an officer remembering what the woman said about being late and her parole letter. She’d do and say anything she could to make that happen. Before she entered the room, she took a deep breath and plopped down in the awaiting armchair in front of the dress-clad psychologist. Her dress was a light blue that matched her eyes making even more striking than normal.   
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” Bridget’s hands rested gently on the arms of her hideous chairs.  
“Got to keep you on your toes, Gidge.” Franky teased leaning back in the chair with her arms behind her head.   
“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, maybe we shouldn’t meet today.” Bridget got up and walked to the office door and opened it to see Franky out.   
“Aw, c’mon I was just teasing ya,” Franky’s body didn’t budge from her spot while inside her heart thundered in her chest. She had to get back in the shrink’s good graces or she could kiss her parole goodbye.   
“Why were you late? You do realize I have other women to see today, and if you can’t show up on time it throws off my whole appointment schedule?” Bridget’s eyebrows narrowed at the inmate.   
“I’m really sorry. I was in the library trying to get caught up for my courses. I’m behind on my reading. I’m sorry for throwing off your day.” Franky dropped her act and her emerald eyes pleaded with the woman to give her a second chance.   
“Thank you for your honesty. How is your law course coming? It must be very challenging.” Bridget was reseated across from Franky.  
“It’s going no thanks to her governorship.”   
“What does that mean?”  
“It means she’s supposed to be my tutor, and she has been slacking in her duties. I can’t take my tests without meeting with her so many times and signing me off.”   
“Well perhaps we can work something out with Mrs. Pearson to get you back on track.” Bridget suggested.   
“It’s no use, I wouldn’t want to meet with her again anyway.” Instantly Franky’s arms crossed over her chest, closing herself off. Bridget had been trained to know the reactions of abuse victims. Franky’s defense tactics were those of a 10 year old child.   
“Would you consider meeting with me to go over your courses?” The inmate’s eyebrows raised.   
“With you? No offense, Gidget, but what do you know about law?” Franky smirked.  
“Your tutor only needs to be someone who holds a degree. It doesn’t matter what it is in, Franky. Who knows, maybe you could teach me something.”  
“I can teach more than just law,” Franky smiled her hand brushing over her lips.  
“I bet you could. Maybe you’d like to explain your relationship with Ericka today?” Bridget suggested taking a sip from her coffee cup.   
“I’d rather not.” Franky said honestly watching as the blonde’s lips parted against the ceramic mug. “Ericka and I don’t have a relationship to speak of. She’s a two-faced bitch.” She expected the psychologist to cringe at her vulgarity, but her face remained the same.   
“You seem to have a lot of anger towards her,” She pushed. Franky’s leg bounced against the floor, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile.   
“In case you haven’t noticed, Gidge, I’m angry at everyone.” She threw her hands up in a shrug.   
“Where do you think that anger comes from, Franky?” Bridget pushed again.  
“I’m not doing this again.” She was up pacing again in seconds her hands were running through her hair. “I’m not talking to you about my problems, so you can stop asking your stupid questions. I’m here to get my bloody parole, and then get the hell out of this place.” Franky stood planted by the door to the office ready to bolt. Bridget knew that the young woman had probably been running on her sense of fight or flight her entire adult life. She was proving it right now as her green eyes flashed back and forth from Bridget to the door handle.   
“How do you see yourself leaving here?”  
“In a blaze of glory. I want a hot girl in a hot car outside the gates waiting to drive me off into the sunset.”   
“That says it all right there. Anger and hope. When did you realize you were gay, Franky?”   
“What’s it to ya? “  
“Well the subject of women seems to be a favorite of yours, so I thought it might be something you like to discuss.” Franky couldn’t help the slight blush from creeping onto her cheeks at Bridget’s comment.   
“I had sex with blokes for ages because I thought I had to…it was alright, but there was something missing. Then I fucked a woman, I finally felt like I got it right.” 

The music in the bar was so loud Franky could feel the vibrations of the base in her toes. She had been working as a server at a restaurant nearby for three months when some of the people from the kitchen invited her out after close for a few drinks. Her body was already buzzing from the few shots and couple beers.   
“Are you just going to stand there all night or are you going to come dance with me, Franks?” Her name was Miranda and she’d been the first real lesbian Franky had ever met. She was gorgeous. Her blonde hair was always pulled back into a braid that cascaded just beneath her shoulder blades. Her piercing blue eyes were large and she always had a smile on her face.   
“I don’t dance.” Franky shook her head taking another sip from her beer bottle. “You do now.” She grabbed Franky’s free hand and pulled her into the middle of the crowded dance floor. Before Franky could open her mouth to protest, Miranda had pulled Franky tight against her body and began moving her hips in time with the music. Her hands rested lightly on on Franky’s sharp hips helping her relax.   
Before long the two were laughing and grinding without a care. Franky couldn’t help but notice the tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the way Miranda’s hand on the small of her back pulling her in tightly. Miranda leaned in until her full lips were pressed to Franky’s ear.  
“I want you,” She allowed her hand to trail lower until it was tucked into Franky’s back pocket. “Let me take you to my place and show you what you’re missing.” When she finished her sentence, her lips pressed just beneath the brunette’s ear. Miranda then trailed kisses along Franky’s long neck until she reached the crook. Without warning, she delivered a soft bite causing Franky to moan audibly and her head to fall back. Miranda then pulled her out of the club without another word the entire car ride. Franky tried her best to hide her nervousness, thankfully the alcohol was helping slightly.   
Franky felt like time slowed as soon as she crossed the threshold into Miranda's small Melbourne flat. The kitchen was the centerpiece being packed with the top of the line tools for the blonde's culinary masterpieces. Franky always begged the chef for food during her double shifts by batting her eyes and pouting. In reality she didn’t know where her next meal would come from if she didn’t make any tips that day. Miranda always gave in giving Franky something new and incredible to try. She had been spoiled from the beginning.   
Miranda excused herself to use the restroom and motioned Franky towards the fridge for a beverage. While she waited, Franky examined the amount of fresh ingredients loaded into the small space. Franky leaned over the flower of broccoli to grab a beer only to feel the soft touch of Miranda's cool hands against the delicate skin of her hips. "Franks." She whispered pulling the younger girl up pressing herself into Franky's slender back.   
"Mir." Franky let the blonde wrap her arms around her waist underneath her thin tank top. Somehow Miranda's lips found the back of the brunettes neck as she placed soft, wet kisses down until the fabric of the tank top prevented her from going further.   
"Tell me that this is what you want, Francesca." Miranda's finger-pads ran over the sensitive skin of Franky's hips. Goosebumps began to pierce her olive skin in waves, rippling over every inch of her body. Franky had made a clear point to her coworkers that her birth name was off limits to anyone who didn't want to be bitch slapped across the face with all of her rings. For some reason, when Miranda said it, it didn’t sound toxic. Before she could process, Franky’s mouth was stuttering her begs as her hips arched back to the warm body behind her. 

“How old were you?” Bridget’s even voice asked.   
“Seventeen. I remember feeling like I could finally see the fucking trees.”  
“I’m sorry, I don’t get the expression.”  
“When I was little, 4th grade maybe, I kept getting headaches so badly they’d  
make me sick. One day, my head was pounding so hard I ran to the nurse and spewed my guts out. Come to find out, my eyes were a mess and I needed glasses. When I finally got the ugly things, I put them on in the car and I remember looking out the window at the trees for the first time and finally being able to see the leaves clearly. I started crying because I could finally see.” Franky left out the part where her mother slapped her face for the tears. Bridget couldn’t help herself from imagining a young Franky seeing correctly for the first time and becoming so overwhelmed with emotion. It was clear that the young woman lead with her heart, and she was deeply sensitive passed a few of her harder layers.   
“That’s the same feeling you got after your first time with a woman. Like you had finally gotten it right for the first time. It was eye opening.” Bridget did her best to summarize the story to reiterate she understood what the young woman was saying clearly.  
Franky nodded in response, then swallowed hard around the lump forming in her throat. She had read briefly of reported assault and possible sexual abuse in Franky’s extensive file. As if the poor girl hadn’t been through enough already. She seemed like a magnet for terrible events. Bridget hadn’t noticed that her hand had found it’s way towards Franky’s knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The inmate’s emerald green eyes seemed clouded with tears as she put her hand over the blonde’s gripping her hand tightly. She felt the sting of two tears streaming down her olive skinned cheeks as they cascaded down her neck. Her weeping eyes made contact with Bridget’s just as a loud rap came against the office door causing them both to pull their hands back. Franky quickly swiped her eyes and nose with her hands before she hit her knees with both hands.   
“Great talk, Gidge. How bout we meet at my place next time, and we drop the formal act?” Franky’s familiar cocky smirk had returned to her face as she leaned her elbows down on her knees giving the counselor a glance at the younger woman’s ample cleavage. She wrinkled her nose and smiled broadly, Bridget’s breath hitched at the 1,000 watt grin. She only wished she could see it when it wasn’t forced across the beautiful pink lips.   
“How about you come to a group session instead? Tomorrow at 2pm after lunch.”   
“Can’t go a day without seeing my ugly mug, eh? I’ve got school then, but I’ll see you next time, yeah?” Before Bridget had any chance to react, Franky was out the door without another glance. The blonde didn’t have any time to recover before she was being pulled into a staff meeting.   
She tried to remained focused on Ericka Pearson’s words about the arrival of Liz Birdsworth’s daughter, but her mind kept flashing back to Franky’s face as she gripped her hand so tightly. Bridget was certain Franky had never spoken about Miranda to anyone inside the walls of Wentworth, possibly anyone. Instead, Franky’s first time was burried deep with heaps of other memories she tried to suppress. Bridget’s mission was clear. She had to chip away at the brunette slowly in order to gain her trust. Franky wasn’t easy to trust due to her past experiences, but Bridget was determined to show the younger woman that there were people who genuinely cared out in the world. Now if she could keep her feelings in check to make sure that would happen was the real question.


	4. Session 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware, mentions of sexual and physical abuse. They are minor, but there.

Bridget had been taking her time picking up the education unit after her group session. She had begun to clear up a pitcher of lemonade and some biscuits along the side of the room. She had immediately noticed the tall brunette that sat hunched over at a small table littered with open books when the group session started, but she did not want to distract her studying. Her back was turned as she picked up some informational brochures, but somehow she could feel the burning stare of emerald eyes on her skin.  
  
She was snapped out of her reverie when Erica entered the small space and walked straight towards Franky, not even greeting Bridget.  
  
“You’re late.” Franky said evenly without looking up from her text. “Been waiting  
  
forty minutes for you, you better have a hell of an excuse.” She clicked her pen repeatedly before glancing up at the Governor, her tongue pressed against her bottom lip.  
  
“Let’s just get this done with. I don’t have time for this today, Franky,” She snapped sitting down across from the inmate.  
  
“Of course you don’t, you never have time for me anymore.” Franky’s voice was low, but Bridget could sense the deep hurt that lie beneath. “I’m weeks behind because of you, Erica,” her green eyes pleaded with the stoic woman in front of her.  
  
“It’s Mrs. Pearson. Don’t blame me for your wrongdoing. You wouldn’t be in this predicament if you had the sense not to send your father to the ER with a broken nose.”  
  
“We both know that I didn’t want to see him in the first place. You’re the one who wanted me to. I told you I wanted a box visit just in case, but you refused.” Franky snapped leaning in closer. “Or do you not remember that because you were too busy begging me to fuck you?” Bridget had begun picking up chairs careful not to interrupt the conversation that was occurring. “Then you fucking sent me away without a word for five weeks. Five weeks, Erica. Then I find out from someone else you went and married the fucking prick because you didn’t have the balls to tell me yourself.” Tears were threatening to fall from the emerald green eyes.  
  
“Things have changed, Franky. I need you to understand that.” Franky’s heart sank at the words coming out of her former lover’s mouth.  
  
“You mean you’ve changed.” The young woman corrected. “Do you still think about me when you’re fucking him?” Her words were so low Bridget for a moment wondered if she was hearing them correctly. “I can still feel you, you know? You’re so fucking sexy when you cum on my fingers,” Franky’s words dripped like sex over the room as her eyes pierced the blonde’s. Instantly Erica brought her hand across the inmate’s high cheekbone the slap rang through the empty space. Franky’s winced, but she didn’t reach up to cover the red print that had been left knowing it would be a sign of weakness.  
  
“If you don’t stop spreading these lies, I will slot you for verbal abuse of an officer and revoke all of your privileges,” The governor threatened with her index finger pointing accusingly in Franky’s face. Franky’s jaw clenched as she fought to control her breathing. “When are you going to see that this behavior does nothing but get you in trouble? You’re a waste of time and resources,” Erica’s words cut deeply.  
  
Franky’s hands instantly shoved all of the books and papers off the small space chucking them to the side before slamming her hands down loudly on the table as she stood hovering with hateful eyes at the seated woman. The sound reverberated off the walls of the empty space. Her body was shaking with rage was she paced back and forth her hand running over her lips, tears now streaming down her red face.  
  
“That’s it.” Erica had picked up her walkie talkie and paged Will Jackson to the education center to remove Franky back to her isolated hell. “You’ll stay down there until you stop lying, Francesca.” The governor stood crossing her arms over her chest knowing she had won the battle.  
  
“Don’t you ever fucking call me that!” Franky screamed as her fist made contact with the side of the bookshelf regardless of the damage it would cause. It would do nothing to mask the pain in her heart. Will immediately came running to try to subdue the woman until Bridget ran and pressed her hand against his solid chest, stopping the man instantly unable to remember how she had ended up there so quickly.  
  
“Let me try to talk to her, please?” She begged as her eyes flickered between Will and Franky throwing empty chairs across the room as she screamed at the top of her lungs. Will nodded curtly after he received an apathetic shrug from Erica as she walked out of the room without a second glance at the fuming inmate who she had set off like a stick of dynamite. Bridget’s hand instantly flew to Franky’s wrist as she was about to flip the empty table. “Franky. I’m going to ask you to take a deep breath with me, ok?” Her hand didn’t move from her wrist as she brushed her thumb over the soft skin. Her form was still shaking with rage as the tears streamed uninterrupted from her solid jawline to her chest, but she didn’t pull away. Bridget then placed her hand on Franky’s warm chest above her tattoo. She then moved her other hand from Franky’s wrist down to her toned stomach. “In through your chest, out through your stomach, alright? Try it with me. Try to move my hands” Bridget felt Franky suck in air through her sobs, her chest raising under her palm. Her heart was pounding so quickly in her chest, Bridget thought it may explode at any moment. Then she exhaled, her firm abdomen pushing Bridget’s hand back. “That’s great, Franky. Do it again.” Franky did as she was told for several breaths until the blonde could feel her heart rate slowing back to a normal level as her rage dissipated as quickly as it had came. “That’s perfect, Franky,” She smiled broadly nodding her encouragement to the young woman. Franky felt as if she had been hypnotized as all of the rage seemed to leave her body with just the simplest of touches. “Does that feel better?” Franky nodded gently in response still focused on the psychologist’s hands pressed so firmly against her as she breathed in and exhaled deeply. “Mr. Jackson, I’m going to take Franky back to my office and we’re going to talk through this alright?”  
  
“Page me when you’re finished so I can take her down,” He nodded. Franky followed Bridget down the hallway, her eyes on the floor. She had been careful to destroy any evidence of tears and running eyeliner before they stepped out into the open corridor where she could be seen. She hated how easily she was brought to tears, it always made her feel so incredibly weak. Bridget opened the door to her office allowing Franky to take a seat.  
  
“I’ll be right back, alright?” Bridget closed the door after herself softly. Franky couldn’t believe after destroying numerous things in the education unit, the blonde trusted her alone in her office with her things. She took a seat in the lime green chair as she waited patiently for the blonde to return. Several minutes later, Bridget entered the office carefully with a cuppa in one hand and an ice pack in the other. She handed both to Franky carefully. “Two sugars, right?” Franky nodded in confusion taking the steaming cup in her hand. The smell of the tea provided some mild comfort to the anguished woman.  
  
“Thank you.” She whispered her eyes focused on taking a sip from the tea. “For everything.” She added her eyes glancing up to Bridget’s seated form.  
  
“Anytime,” She nodded with a smile. “Walk me through what happened with the governor. Why did you get so angry with her?” She asked, her face concerned. Franky shrugged setting the tea on the small side table between them. She placed the ice pack over her red knuckles immediately feeling the cool relief it provided. “Franky, we need to talk through these things and figure out what’s going on.”  
  
“Will she get in trouble if I tell you?” Her eyes glanced out the window. It was one of the few windows that wasn’t glazed over preventing the viewer from seeing out to the other side. She hated the painted over window in her cell, but the view from the psychologist’s office was almost peaceful. It was lined with beautiful trees swaying gracefully in the wind.  
  
“That should be the least of your concerns. Something is very clearly bothering you, and the only way to work through it is to talk about it.” She pressed once more.  
  
“I don’t want her to get fired because of me. She’d hate me even more than she already does.” Franky shook her head before her eyes dropped back down to the ice pack in her lap.  
  
“How about I ask you some questions and you can respond yes or no? Would that make this easier?” Franky shrugged yet again, but waited for the woman to continue. “Was the conversation between you and Governor Pearson was more than about your courses?”  
  
Franky nodded.  
  
“Was it about your relationship with the Governor?”  
  
Her head raised up and down once more.  
  
“Have you been having a physical relationship with her?”  
  
Franky paused with tears burning in her eyes as she made eye contact with Bridget. She nodded very curtly before burying her head in her hands, sobs wracking her body. Bridget reached across and brought her hand to the young woman’s shoulder trying to give her some level of comfort. She didn’t continue to speak, instead she allowed the brunette to cry openly about her heartache. It was clear her emotions had been bottled up for quite some time. When she finally seemed to have recovered and leaned back in the chair, Bridget continued.  
  
“Franky what she allowed to happen is not appropriate. You have to understand that you are not in the wrong here, she is. She took advantage of her position by having relations with you.” Inside Bridget was fuming at the woman for what she had done to her young ward.  
  
“Please, don’t tell anyone. You can’t, she’ll never forgive me.” Franky begged with her green eyes swollen and red from the tears.  
  
“Why are you protecting her when she doesn’t do the same to protect you? You said yourself that she was the one that slotted you and she was the one impeding you from completing your coursework on time,” she repeated exactly the information Franky had already told her. It was the only way she could make her see.  
  
“Please, Bridget. You can’t tell anyone. I pushed her, it’s not her fault. Besides, it’s not like that anymore. It’s over, I promise you,” Franky begged to protect the woman that obviously had caused her so much pain. Bridget’s heart sank.  
  
“Did you protect your mother this way too when you were growing up?” Bridget asked tentatively. Franky’s eyes closed quickly, shutting herself off from the question. “Did you make excuses for her when she hurt you?” The psychologist pressed further knowing the risk she was running.  
  
“You need to stop,” Franky warned her words shaking. Her eyes were still shut tight as if she was hiding from the line of questioning. Her arms gripped the arms of the chairs until she was white knuckled. Bridget could almost make out the silhouette of the scared young girl that lay beneath the toned and tattooed covered skin.  
  
“You would always find a way to blame it on yourself instead of seeing it for what it really was, didn’t you? You’re not the abuser, Franky. You’re the victim. You do see that, right?” Bridget leaned forward placing both hands on Franky’s knees. The brunette’s eyes finally flashed open to reveal a coldness unlike anything Bridget had ever seen. Her emerald orbs pierced hard as she leaned close her face inches away from Bridget’s. The brick wall was built up thick around her.  
  
“You get off on hearing about my miserable childhood, do ya?” Her words spat like venom. Franky stood lifting her shirt revealing the delicate olive skin of her side. Bridget now noticed in the natural light of her window that at the center of each beautiful blossom lining Franky’s side, was a small circular scar. The same marking appeared over and over dozens of times across her olive skin. How had Bridget missed that during their first meeting? “How’s this for miserable? When she was too washed up and broke, she used to let her dealer fuck me for gear and she’d burn me with cigarettes afterwards if I screamed. The twisted part was, I’d scream on purpose because I wanted her to burn me. It took my mind off of him hovering over me. I was 12 the first time it happened. It got to the point where I didn’t fight or scream anymore, I knew it was going to happen, so I’d just look up at the ceiling and pretend I was somewhere else. I didn’t make a sound even when I felt like I was going to die in that bed.” Her body seemed to deflate as the words left her mouth until the point she was sat on the ground with her legs pulled toward her chest rocking herself for comfort. Bridget followed suit and kneeled in front of Franky with her hands squeezing reassuringly on her knees.  
  
“You didn’t deserve any of that shit, Franky. And you don’t deserve it now. You don’t need to make excuses for what other people have done to hurt you,” the words finally had finally reached her brain as she took them in. She nodded slowly wiping her face of tears. Somehow the psychologist had manage to break past the wall of protection that Franky had built up around herself. Carefully she leaned up to grab Franky’s cuppa and handed it to the woman who graciously took a few sips before speaking.  
  
“You know most people wouldn’t have done what you just did in the library. That was pretty fucking ballsy,” Franky shook her head with a small smile brushing her hand over the blonde’s that lay trapped on top of her knee.  
  
“Well, I’m not most people,” Bridget responded wrinkling her nose at the young woman before slipping back into her chair. The burden on her shoulders had lessened significantly since she walked into the room. She no longer felt like the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders as she raised herself to sit back in the ugly chair.  
  
“Apparently not, Gidge,” Franky laughed licking her lips. “Don’t suppose you can work those psych super powers and get me out of the slot, eh?” she asked with raised eyebrows hopefully.  
  
“Afraid not, you did destroy the library. How about next time you think of something calming before you start throwing things?” Bridget suggested with a pat against her knee again. Somehow she had been unable to keep up the physical barrier between them when seeing Franky suffering. She tried to push the thought to the back of her mind.  
  
“Like what?” Franky laughed lightly finding the idea completely absurd. Sure, puppies and jelly might work for her mate, Boomer, but nothing in the world could stop her when she started seeing red.  
  
“Something you find calming. What about the trees? The way the leaves blow in the wind?” Bridget turned to look at the large window of her office she had caught Franky staring out of on numerous occasions. Franky cheeks burned in a blush at Bridget’s memory of her fascination with the tall oaks. “I know it sounds silly, but try it alright?”  
  
“I will, promise. Thanks, Gidge,” Franky bit her bottom lip. The knock at the door woke them from their moment as Will poked his head in the door.  
  
“We’ve got the deluxe suite ready for you, Doyle,” he teased.  
  
“Try not to miss me too much, Gidget,” Franky winked before she was headed out of the office after the officer. She glanced over her shoulder and mouthed ‘thank you,’ once more with a broad grin on her face.  
  
When the door shut behind her, Bridget’s head was in her hands as the tears wracked her form at the very thought of the atrocities that had happened to the angry young woman with no one to look after her. She was a good person underneath the hurt and hatred, but it wasn’t something she revealed too easily to those around her. Had she allowed herself to let Erica Davidson in only to be disheartened? Bridget’s stomach turned at the abuse of power. Never in her life had she even considered breaking the line between patient and psychologist, and yet there were higher authorities that seemed to pay no mind to the ideals. It was evident she needed to have words with Erica Davidson.


	5. The Slot

Franky’s return stay to the slot was her shorter stint to date, to say the least. Less than two hours had passed as Franky sat daydreaming calmly on the bed. She lay with her bruising hand on her stomach draped with the ice pack Bridget had kindly given her. Her head was reeling with the events leading up to her solitary. No one in their right mind had ever stepped in Franky’s way when she saw red. Most of them ended up on the floor nursing their wounds. She was like a grenade; when she exploded with anger, it covered everyone in her vicinity. Until Bridget. The short woman not only stepped in the way of the flying shards, she did so with no fear painted on her face. What was that about? Bridget had poked the darkness of her past that lay tucked away safely in its proper box, but how did she come out without a scratch on her?  
  
The last shrink that had ever tried to get her to open up about her mother had refused to see her again because she tore his metaphorical manhood apart. She was insanely talented at reading people from only minutes of interaction. Within the first session, she pounced on the deep-seated compulsive tendencies of the doctor by his alphabetized and color coded book-shelf and the rhythmic three clicks of his pen. Who the fuck was he to talk to her about issues? She was a quick read, but this Westfall woman was giving her a run for her money.  
  
Franky kept go back and forth whether or not she thought the spunky blonde was gay. There would be flickers of confidence when the woman would look at her with those piercing blue eyes and she’d wrinkle her small nose with that fucking grin. Then in the next minute she’d be back to her serious gaze as if the brunette was making it up in her head. The whiplash made her head spin and her stomach flip. It was allowing the heartache she felt for the new Misses Pearson a little more bearable.  
  
She was stirred from her deep thoughts by the clicking sound of the steel door opening. She felt her heart leap at the thought the forensic psychologist had managed to get her out of the private hell, but she was let down to see the stern faced Governor in the closed doorway of her cell. Franky’s eyes stayed on her for no more than two seconds before flickering back up to the dimpled ceiling.  
  
“Franky…” Erica started. The previous anger was gone leveling a docile and empathetic tone. “I’m sorry,” she stated plainly thinking it would be enough.  
  
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” she snapped shooting daggers with her green eyes.  
  
“Please don’t be like this. You knew things couldn’t continue this way if I’m to keep my job,”  
  
“Because that’s all that matters, right? Your job. As long as your arse is saved, who gives a fuck about anything else?” Franky sat up tossing the now lukewarm ice pack beside her on the bed. She pulled her legs up to rest her hands on her knees.  
  
“You know that’s not true. You know I care about you.” The latter remark caused Franky to openly scoff with a smirk painted on her lips. Erica’s heels had been slowly creeping into the room until she was able to sit tentatively at the edge of the bed. “I shouldn’t have pretended that nothing happened. What ever happened between us, Franky, you can’t tell anyone. I’d lose my job, I’d potentially lose my license in social work.”  
  
“What have I ever done to you that makes you think I’d do that shit to you?” her tongue wet her bottom lip. “Eh?” She felt the tears trying to push to the surface yet again that day.  
  
Erica sat silently with her eyes on the floor.  
  
“Nothing. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me. But don’t worry, I won’t go blabbing to Channing. Just do one thing for me first,” The anger boiling inside her wanted so desperately to make Erica hurt for all the pain she caused. “Admit it,” she didn’t have to ask the question. She’d tortured Erica to the edge of climax so many times making her utter the words out loud.  
  
“Franky, we can’t keep doing this-” her head was in her hands. The brunette woman haunted her dreams and caused her head to throb during work hours. She felt the tight grip of Franky’s hand tight around her neck preventing her from taking a full deep breath into her lungs. Her eyes flashed open in horror. She’d turned the camera’s off in the room before she walked down. Franky would know she’d try to cover up their conversation. She knew the feed would be blank for the minutes she was in the cell. She was too smart for Erica’s tricks. Franky’s free hand pulled at her long blonde hair forcing her to make contact with those piercing emerald eyes.  
  
“Say it,” she commanded roughly from in front of the woman.  
  
“It’s you,” Erica panted with her lips parted. “It’s you,” she moaned once more. The firm grip on her neck and hair was gone instantly. Franky was standing by the now open door of the cell. She bit back the sly smile as she crossed her arms. She waited impatiently for her dismissal back to her proper cell in her unit.  
  
The clicking of boots down the linoleum corridor stirred both women from their exchange. Erica stood smoothing her hair and clearing her throat. Bridget paused briefly at the open door.  
  
“Everything alright?” She asked with worry painted on her brow. Franky nodded towards Erica’s disheveled form waiting for her to answer for them.  
  
“Yes, thank you, Ms. Westfall. I was just escorting Franky back to her cell,” she stumbled over her words before brushing by the psychologist and starting a few paces down the hall before waiting for Franky to step out of the cell and follow her.  
  
Bridget’s hand squeezed Franky’s wrist and her eyebrows raised in silent question about her well being before returning her hand back into her jacket pocket. Franky gave a genuine smile and nodded in response. It was Franky’s turn to wrinkle her nose at the psych before brushing by her and following Erica down the hall without another glance.


	6. Session 4

Bridget hadn’t been prepared for the level of agitation she would feel at finding the alleged governor with Franky in her the slot. It had taken several deep moments of restraint in order for her to not storm into Erica Pearson’s office and rip her to shreds for her behavior. Yes, she should have been focused on the unethical behavior of a governor sleeping with her young ward, but her irritation sat much deeper. Franky had clearly been taken by her, this didn’t take a degree in psychology to see. What had truly been the straw to break the camel’s back was her blatant and unending stream of lies. There was no wonder Franky had acted out in anger. Thankfully, she hadn’t given Erica a piece of her mind that day, and instead went home to stew in her thoughts with a few glasses of wine and a nice soak in the bath with lavender and epsom salt. She hoped if the soothing feeling of the warm water didn’t ease her tension, at least the alcohol would.  
  
Never in all of her time working in correctional facilities had she experienced the thoughts rushing through her mind. She was angry. Borderline furious. Yes, Erica’s actions were unexcusable. But Bridget couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be feeling the same way if the situation had been any other inmate. What was it about Franky Doyle?  
  
She shook the thoughts from her head immediately. No. She wouldn’t allow her thoughts to go down that rabbit hole. Her work was to help rehabilitate these women. That’s what she had done for nearly twenty years. It was the work she loved to do. There was no difference between any of the women who sought treatment with her. She was there to help them. It had become a mantra she began repeating in her head. ‘I’m here to help them.’ As she collapsed into her bed and pulled the thick duvet around her naked form, she continued to repeat the words. ‘I am here to help them.’ She swallowed back the guilt that sat at the back of her throat. Help them. As she finally forced her eyes closed, she wasn’t met with the sweet release of darkness. Instead she fell asleep with visions of piercing green eyes that invaded her dreams. 

Since their exchange in the slot, Franky hadn’t spoken a single word to Erica, and it was if the dark cloud above her had finally moved on. The governor had signed off on all future assignments for her wordlessly by leaving the documents in her pile of books on the trolley of the library. It finally gave Franky the ability to focus solely on her studies. She’d been able to make up weeks of work within a few days as she spent all of her free time in the library.  
Occasionally she’d be reading while Bridget’s group sessions took place towards the front of the education centre. For some reason, even her presence had begun to provide a calming effect unlike anything she ever experienced before. She’d catch herself smiling down at her texts for no reason at all. At the end of the sessions Bridget would give her a wave or a silent nod before exiting back to her office. Even if there were no words, the exchange was always welcomed. Franky began to find herself feeling eager for their next session together. 

“So you’ve been dating women ever since Miranda?” Bridget tucked her fallen blonde strands of hair back behind her ear.  
  
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it dating, Gidge.” Franky shook her head blushing slightly. The two hadn’t spoken since Franky’s meltdown, and this is what she wanted to start with? Really?  
  
“So fucking then?” Bridget corrected herself.  
  
“Woah, I didn’t know shrinks knew that kind of language. Yes, I like fucking women.” Franky swallowed, her throat completely dry. She noticed the peach colored blush that seemed to brush from the psych’s cheeks towards her neck and chest disappearing under the deep blue dress that lay underneath a short leather jacket. The shrink tended to dress with a little more of an edge with her style. Franky liked it. There was no denying that Bridget Westfall was one sexy fox.  
  
“What about it do you like?” Bridget’s question snapped Franky from the images of her kneeling in front of the woman and pushing the fabric of her dress up over her hips to get a glimpse of the panties that lay in hiding underneath. Shit.  
  
“Are we really going here?” Franky tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, the shrink’s questions causing her heartbeat to elevate yet again. She couldn’t help but notice the slight tightness in her stomach. Bridget nodded waiting for Franky to continue. “I love everything about them. The way they kiss back so softly, feeling their curves underneath their clothes, making them feel good.”  
  
“So you like to be the one in control?” Franky felt like darting towards the door and steering herself towards the showers in order to dowse herself in cold water. Her skin was alight like fire. She’d been abstaining since her previous human sex toy, Kim, was paroled several months before.  
  
“Are you asking if I like to be on top, Gidget? I think you should buy me a drink first.” Bridget laughed along with Franky. “But anyways, yes, I do.”  
  
“Have you ever let a woman be the dominant one during sex?” Franky swallowed again. She nodded unable to find her voice. “And you don’t enjoy that as much?” Franky shook her head. “Why’s that?”  
  
“I like to be the one calling the shots.” Franky’s mind flew back to Kim and her heated time together and Kim’s endless shouts for her to slow down. She never listened and instead preferred to leave the petite woman gasping for breath within minutes.  
  
“Do you think that might have to do with feeling out of control in other aspects of your life?” Fucking hell. Franky had fallen like a dumb animal into the trap Bridget had set. She had to commend the woman for her efforts. The last few times with Kim had been when Franky was in need of a distraction from the happenings around her.  
  
“When did you first fuck a woman?” Franky fired back lacing her hands together over her firm stomach. She let her legs stretch out to elongate the clean lines of her body giving Bridget a nice view of her muscular arms. Bridget smiled.  
  
“Why did you change the subject?”  
  
“I know you’re a dyke.” Franky smiled slyly after licking her lips slowly. Two could play at this game. If Bridget was bringing the big guns, Franky was prepared to fire back.  
  
“I don’t appreciate the use of that word. These sessions are about you Franky, why does my sexual orientation have anything to do with this?” The ice in her voice was apparent.  
Franky shrugged in response. It was much easier than telling the truth. Talking about sex with Bridget was making her stomach flip like she had just taken a big drop on a rollercoaster.  
  
“Yes, I am a lesbian. Can we return back to our conversation?” Bridget revealed cavalierly. The blush on her cheeks had lessened, but it was still there. Yes. Her instincts had been correct. She nodded silently in response to the psychologist trying to bite back her smile.  
  
“Do you think you like to be dominant during sex because it allows you to feel better about aspects you can’t control?” She was relentless.  
  
“Urgh, now you’re going all Freudian on me.” Franky let her head fall back against the soft cushion of the chair behind her. Bridget’s eyes widened slightly.  
  
“Pardon?” She cleared her throat and adjusted to cross her legs one over the other. Franky’s eyes flickered down in an attempt to get a glance under her dress, but she left empty handed.  
  
“Sigmund Freud’s the one that believes that everything comes down to sexual desires. C’mon Gidge,” Franky said allowing her hands to rest casually behind her head. Her muscles looked good, and she was well aware.  
  
“Believe me, I know the reference, I just didn’t expect you to,” she stated honestly.  
  
“You think I’m repressed, do ya?” Franky gave Bridget a fake look of surprise.  
  
“What do you think?” Of course she’d ask that, Franky thought. Leave it to the shrink to turn the question back on herself.  
  
“I think I enjoy fucking, I don’t think it’s got anything to do with my past.”  
  
“Have you ever made love?” The psychologist’s voice spoke in a smooth even tone as the words left her pink lips. Franky fell silent as she stared out the window shutting herself off of the conversation. “Do you understand the difference, Franky?” She pushed once more. Franky shrugged her eyes locked on the trees on the other side of the glass.  
  
“Making love implies there is more emotion involved than just fucking. Deeper feelings for the person you are with. It’s not necessarily about taking what you want, it’s about being able to read your partner and give them what they need. To pleasure them and trust them to be able to do the same for you.”  
Franky stood and fled for the door before her brain could process her actions. Bridget stayed seated with one leg crossed over the other her blue eyes watching closely. Her hand rested on the handle trying to decide what she was going to do.  
  
“It scares you,” Bridget interpreted with ease. “The thought of letting someone in like that,”  
  
Franky nodded slowly. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears.  
  
“Can you explain to me why?”  
  
“Because everyone I get close to leaves,” the tears were there threatening to cascade down her cheeks at any moment. “My dad, Miranda, now Erica. Love is bullshit. It makes you weak.” Her voice shook as she spoke with her back pressed against the closed door.  
  
“It makes you feel weak because you can’t control the actions of others,” Bridget stood before standing a few paces away from Franky’s shivering form. “Franky, I want you to understand that you cannot control people’s actions. You are deserve so much better than the love you have been shown.” Franky shook her head in response.  
  
“I don’t reckon I do,” Franky wiped her eyes with the pad of her thumb quickly before sniffling back her emotion.  
  
“We accept the love with think we deserve,” Bridget spoke as she took another step closer to the emotional inmate. The words clicked in Franky’s brain. “I’m telling you that you deserve better. I want you to repeat that phrase. I deserve better.” Franky scoffed at the childishness. Bridget’s eyes silently begged.  
  
“I deserve better,” Franky spoke low as her voice cracked with emotion, tears streaming.  
  
Before Bridget could process, she felt her arms wrapping around the taller woman’s neck, pulling her into a tight embrace. Franky accepted the touch allowing her head to rest against Bridget’s shoulder. She smelled of lavender and leather, the two contrasting scents mixing beautifully. The two stayed that way in silence for several moments allowing their breathing to match rhythmically.  
  
Franky lifted her head with a shy smile on her face.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispered before the soft knock came on the door behind them. There time was up.  
  
“I’m proud of your work today, Franky,” Bridget gave a quick reassuring squeeze to the young woman’s bare shoulder. Franky smiled warmly before exiting the office. Silently Bridget knew she was most likely the only one to ever speak those words to the inmate. The thought made her heart ache.


	7. Session 5

Things never stayed calm in Wentworth for long. Not even a week after their falling out, Erica Pearson was gone as if she was nothing more than a distant memory. She left no clue to her disappearance, no letter of resignation, she was just gone. Although things didn’t end well, Franky felt the sense of abandonment returning deep in the pit of her stomach. It left her with a sour taste in her mouth. It wasn’t as if she could talk to her new confidant, who was away at a two week-long conference in New Zealand. Franky hated admitting how much she had grown to rely on Bridget.

The new Governor of Wentworth was a towering woman named Joan Ferguson. Within her first ten minutes on the job, she had successfully broken up Franky’s streamlined drug supply, and stripped her from her position of power behind the steam press in the laundry room. She was to replace the crazy old bat in the kitchen. Ferguson claimed it should be something she’d enjoy, with her culinary past in all. Ouch. With her power stripped away, it was only a matter of time before Franky was in deep water with the women. She’d had to think quickly in order to give the women what they wanted, and avoid a beating.

Thankfully Doreen had been put in charge of the garden project in the yard, which saw the daily visit of some blokes from Walford Prison. It didn’t take a genius to figure out a drop box in the shed. The disgusting slag didn’t take more convincing than a few licks of her lips and bats of her eyelashes. The plan almost backfired completely when he was seeking for Franky to put her money where her mouth was, literally. She’d honestly didn’t know what she’d do without Boomer’s loyalty. She was safe for now.

When she wasn’t consumed preparing meals in the kitchen, she busied herself by keeping up with her endless school work. Finally after two weeks, she saw Bridget’s petite form escorted along the fence of the yard. She tried to hold back the smile from her face as she lifted the hand weights.

“Keeping busy, I see?” Bridget came to rest along the other side of the fence smiling at the inmate.

“Long time no see, Gidget,” she smirked lifting the heavy weights rhythmically. “You look tanner, sure you were at a conference and not by some beach in a bikini?” the brunette teased biting her tongue between her teeth.

“I’d be happy to talk about what you’ve been up to. I’ve got a free slot this afternoon, if you’d like.”

“You want me to fill it then?” Franky noticed the blush creep onto Bridget’s cheeks. She couldn’t help but beam at her ability to rile the woman.

“I’ll see you at three,” she managed to stutter out before clicking away in her boots towards the entrance of the prison.

Unfortunately, that was where the playfulness had ended that day. By the time Franky had made her way to Bridget’s office for her appointment, the psychologist had already been handed an opened stack of letters with Franky’s loopy scrawl at the previous governor’s name on each envelope. Her heart sank. Joan Ferguson had confiscated them before they went to post, and read all of the personal messages.  
  
The new governor had come to interrogate Bridget into sharing any information she may have had about the tattooed prisoner.  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t be of any assistance, Governor. To share that information with you would be a breach of patient confidentiality. I’ve worked hard to build a working relationship with Franky, and to betray that trust, I’m sure she’d never recover,” she words she spoke were true.  
  
“I’d take care to make sure you’re not getting too close to her. It didn’t work out so well for Mrs. Pearson, I’d hate to see the same happen to you Ms. Westfall. She is a violent offender and a known drug dealer. Do not let her personality fool you. ”  
  
“I’m confident I can take care of myself around Franky Doyle.”  
  
Ferguson retreated from her office leaving the pile of letters on her desk. She quickly stowed them away in a drawer before the inmate entered the room with a soft knock.  
  
“I see you’ve already met our new Governor.” Franky took a seat casually with her legs tucked underneath her in the green arm chair.  
  
“I see you’ve already made quite an impression on her,” Bridget rose from her desk to met the young woman in the open chair. Franky shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
“Franky, I suggest keeping your head down and staying out of her way as much as possible.” Bridget wasn’t sure what made her give the advice to the young woman. Something about the towering woman made her feel uneasy. “Don’t do anything to extend your time, please.” Like writing letters to the ex-governor who you had sex with.  
“I can take care of myself,” Franky stated sternly crossing her arms over her chest. There it was. The wall.  
  
“I know you can, I’m just saying to be careful is all,” she lined her voice with care. “I heard you got a promoted to the kitchen, how is that working out?” She quickly changed the subject.  
  
“Better than pressing sheets, I guess,” Franky lied. Sure, she liked holding the position of power, but in reality the laundry room was where so much of the prison’s power exchanges occurred. Now her coveted position behind the steam press was tossed carelessly into Red’s hands. She could feel her power slipping away.  
  
“It doesn’t make you feel out of control?” Franky shrugged in response. “Bea Smith seems to be picking up quite a lot of support from the women,” Bridget added baiting the young woman. “Come on, these walls won’t talk, tell me how you feel about her. How does it make you feel knowing she may take over as top dog?” She was clearly not going to stop.  
  
“I want to kill the bitch, is that what you want to hear?” Franky smirked with dark eyes. “I could care less about her as long as she stays out of my way,” she added glancing at her worn converses.  
  
“So you’re not thinking of taking her on then?” Bridget wasn’t sure if she was asking out of curiosity or fear.  
  
“Why would I risk losing my parole to take out that red haired cunt?” Franky spat leaning forward her elbows on her knees. The bright pink fabric of her bra was visible underneath the white singlet. “I’m not fucking stupid, parole’s my total focus,” she lied. “You’ve been gone two weeks and this is what you want to talk about? Really?”  
  
Bridget stood and retreated back near her desk feeling Franky’s smoldering eyes on hers. She retrieved the stack of letters and handed them over to the inmate. It took Franky a few seconds to put the pieces together. She was seeing red again.  
  
“What were you thinking Franky?” Bridget spoke smoothly trying to tread over the eggshells without setting Franky off. “This is careless, and you’re smarter than this,” Bridget couldn’t help the emotion in her voice.  
  
“These were meant to be posted.” Franky seethed gripping the letters tightly.  
  
“Ferguson confiscated them,” She managed to sit back down across from the angry prisoner. “I didn’t read them.”  
  
“Bullshit, what the fuck did you say to her?” She stood leaning over the woman intimidatingly. Bridget didn’t flinch even as she could feel Franky’s hot breath puffing out in angry.  
  
“Franky, I promise you that I did not tell her anything. I am worried that you’re not thinking clearly, and you don’t tend to make the best decisions when you’re upset,” she stated calmly. Franky wet her bottom lip with her tongue before biting down on it. She was struggling.  
  
“You don’t fucking know anything about me,”  
  
“I know that you’re scared and alone, and you tend to act stupidly when you feel that way,” Bridget revealed honestly. She knew they were words Franky had to hear, but why did she have to be the one to deliver them? “Why else would you be writing her and continuing to bring drugs in this prison?” The two had never talked about the drugs. Franky had just assumed Bridget was unaware like the rest of the screws. Sure they’d speculated her involvement, but she’d never given them an ounce of proof. It was one thing to deal with the accusations from the others, but Bridget? It made her feel sick.  
  
“I’d rather rot in here for seven years than spend another minute talking to you.” Franky pointed the letters accusingly at Bridget with tears in her eyes. She stormed out of the office slamming the door behind her. Miraculously Franky had managed to make it to her cell collapsing in bed to cry silently. It was abundantly clear that Bridget Westfall wasn’t any different than anyone else in her life.


	8. Session 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Implied rape in this chapter. Please read with caution.

Bridget hadn’t slept well since her last meeting with the young inmate. Her attempt to bring brutal honesty had backfired. Franky had stopped showing up to her scheduled appointments, and hadn’t been absent from the education centre during Bridget’s group sessions. She had driven the woman away and destroyed the trust she had worked so hard to build. Her only hope was that the anger wouldn’t cause Franky to act unpredictably. She prayed that she would keep her head down and serve her time quietly.  
  
Her hopes were dashed in a matter of weeks when she l sat with Will at the table of the break room quietly eating dinner until his radio broke their silence.  
  
“This is C.O. 5, what’s going on C.O. 3?” He asked into the com.  
  
“It’s Doyle, she’s stabbed one of the blokes from Walford. She’s been assaulted,” Linda Miles revealed causing Bridget’s heart to lurch upwards in her chest. She stayed rooted in her seat as Will responded to the call trying to process the events. She felt the overwhelming guilt in the pit of her stomach. She had pushed her too far, and this was her fault.  
  
After a moment to gather her composure, Bridget walked towards the medical wing expecting to find Franky stationed there for an exam. Nurse Rose had then informed her that Ferguson had foregone any medical treatment in favor of holding the woman in solitary until she was willing to speak about the incident. Bridget seethed silently as she walked towards the solitary wing of the prison only to find Ferguson standing in front of Franky’s cell.  
  
“If you refuse to speak, we will hold you in here until you are willing to claim the drugs with the added assault charge to your sentencing,” the Governor threatened evenly.  
  
“I know my rights. I need medical attention,” Franky huffed from her cell.  
  
“Which you will receive when you accept responsibility for your actions.”  
  
“What’s going on here?” Bridget asked interrupting the conversation. She stood behind the tall suited woman in order to look in on Franky’s state. Her right eye was swollen shut as she clutched her stomach trying to remain upright. She was clearly in pain. Her teal travk paints were coated in drying blood. “She needs to be seen by a doctor immediately, Governor.” Bridget tried to push past the taller woman to enter the cell.  
  
“She will be when she chooses to speak,” She blocked Bridget’s path with her arm stretched across the doorway.  
  
“It was self defense. He came at me and I grabbed the first thing I could to get him off me, alright? The gear must have fallen out of his pocket.” Franky’s voice came out weakly as she stumbled towards the bed bent over in pain.  
  
Ferguson retreated down the corridor leaving the two women behind her. Bridget was in front of the pained woman in no time.  
  
“Can you walk?” She asked softly. Franky nodded slowly as she leaned against Bridget for support. Somehow the two managed to make their way towards the medical unit where Rose was finally able to tend to the ailing woman as Bridget stood nearby. She tended to the superficial wounds of her face first. Thankfully she was able to patch up her eyebrow with a few butterfly stitches.  
  
“We’ll need to get you out of these clothes for the rape kit,” Rose said softly. Franky nodded wordlessly as Rose helped her from her soiled singlet and bloodstained track pants. Bridget had never seen how thin the young inmate actually was underneath all of her clothes as she hunched over the bed. Her smooth legs were thin just like the rest of her form.  
  
She was able to stand unassisted in order for Rose to take pictures of the wounds littering her body. From the front, she looked remotely unscatched save for her swollen eye. It was went she turned around that Bridget felt her heart sink low in her chest. Her back was layered with deep purple bruising from her sides down to her inner thighs. Dried blood was flecked over her boyshort underwear and legs, but Bridget was unable to tell if it was Franky’s or not. The next part of the exam was completed in one of interior rooms of the medical unit. It took no more than ten minutes before Franky was back in the thin material of the hospital gown. Rose gathered all of the necessary materials to have delivered to the hospital including Franky’s soiled clothes. Her last task was to administer pain medication and the plan B pill. Franky took them both swallowing the whole glass of water.  
  
“Can I go back to my cell now, please?” She asked with her eyes on the floor. Her face held no emotion.  
  
“We should probably keep you here tonight for observation, Franky,” Rose did her best to comfort the woman.  
  
“Can I at least take a shower?” Franky begged. Her skin was crawling.  
  
“I’ll escort her and bring her right back,” Bridget added. Rose nodded before giving her a couple fluffy towels and a small pack of toiletries.  
  
Franky walked a few paces in front of the psychologist down the hall even with the soreness in her bones. She longed to scrub her skin red and raw.  
  
“Thank you,” Franky murmured as they entered the deserted shower block. “For convincing the Freak,” she added before slipping into the shower stall and removing the thin gown from her body.  
  
“Anyone would have done the same,” Bridget said seating herself on the bench nearby to give Franky some privacy.  
  
The brunette turned on the water and was immediately greeted with the sweet scalding heat. She let the water burn over her washing away the feeling of his calloused fingers on her skin. She grabbed the soap and managed to lather her skin with little resistance from her muscles. When she reached her legs, she paused at the dark bruises feeling the wave of nausea hit her instantly. She fell to her knees on the shower floor.  
  
“Franky, look at me,” Bridget was at her side pulling her from the shower spray and wrapping her in a fluffy white towel as she held her on the floor. “Breathe,” she reminded the panicking inmate. Franky pulled in air to her aching lungs deeply as her eyes met Bridget’s warm blue irises. “There you go,” she soothed.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Franky asked creasing her eyebrows before wincing in pain from the cuts above her eye. Her last exchange with Bridget had ended with her shouting insults towards the psychologist. She’d skipped their sessions for weeks. How on earth was she able to put that aside and be with Franky in her time of need now?  
  
“Because you deserve better,” Bridget’s words came softly as she continued to hold Franky in her arms.  
  
“You were right though. I was being stupid reckless. Those were my drugs I was bringing in, and look what happened,” she tried to laugh lightly only to be met with sore ribs. How was this for irony?  
  
“It doesn’t matter what you did. You don’t deserve this to happen to you.” Bridget’s hand cradled Franky’s face forcing her to make eye contact.  
  
“Why do you care so much, Gidge?” Franky whispered looking up into the pools of deep blue eyes.  
  
“You’re a good person, you just need to start believing it for yourself,” the psychologist smiled softly before wrinkling her small nose. Franky managed to smile back softly before she nodded affirmatively. The two stayed that way for a moment longer, Franky wrapped in the safe haven of Bridget’s arms. Franky tried her hardest to believe the words the blonde had spoken; that she was a good person. The sins of her past weren’t too far away lurking in the dark. Would Bridget still think she was a good person if she confessed?


	9. Session 7

Session 7  
Franky had been excused from work detail for two weeks while she recovered. Word had spread of the attack among the women, and any shred of power she once had had vanished completely without a fight. Bea had quickly stepped in to fill the void. Franky tried to bring herself to care, but the less attention she drew to herself, the better. She took to staying isolated in H2 or the back corner table of the education unit. Anytime she made eye contact with anyone, they gave her sympathetic looks of concern. She fought back the bile in her throat and the overwhelming desire to smack the lot of them. Instead, she pictured the dancing of the tree branches in the wind. The gentle sway instantly relaxed the hardness in her muscles and allowed her to breathe evenly.  
  
“You haven’t been eating,” Bridget’s soft voice startled her from her study as she hunched over her book. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” she blushed softly. The young woman was still jumpy. The bandages were still above Franky’s eye, lined with healing yellow bruises. Her torso was covered by the slightly baggy teal sweatshirt. Usually Franky strutted around in her singlets showing off her tattoos. Bridget silently wondered if she had given up any illusion of power entirely after what had happened.  
  
“Not hungry,” Franky lied as her eyes flickered up from her text. She looked tired with bags under her normally bright eyes. She made no attempt to smile towards the psychologist. Truth was she hated feeling the stares from the women as she ate alone at one the tables. Doreen wasn’t speaking to her much after Ferguson took a bobcat to the garden for Franky’s actions. Although she hadn’t gone down for the drugs, the women all silently knew. Thankfully the junkies had left her alone, seeing her rape as punishment enough for losing the supply ring. Boomer had been sprung with some of the gear in her cell, how it got there neither of them could explain. Franky swore that it wasn’t her, but no amount of convincing would fix what had happened. She was completely and utterly alone.  
  
“You should still eat something. Come on, you need a break,” Bridget motioned for her to follow out of the education unit. The brunette hesitated initially, but intrigue got the best of her, and she followed Bridget towards her office.  
  
As they entered, there was a large paper bag of McDonald’s sitting on her desk. The smell of grease filled the small office, and Franky’s stomach growled in response. She couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her face. She hadn’t touched fast food in the near three years of her incarceration. It was one of her guilty pleasures.  
  
“How did you-” she started to ask unable to finish her question, her voice petering out towards the end.  
  
“Mr. Jackson,” she quickly answered. Will Jackson was a great guy, and it tore Franky apart. She didn’t deserve his kindness. She’d begged him for a cheeseburger one month when he was in charge of the special spend. She’d even gone as high as fifty bucks, but he just shook his head and sighed. She knew he’d never be able to get it back to her in a timely manner before it went cold.  
  
Bridget motioned for her to take a seat and began unloading the contents of the bag.  
  
“Jesus, are you feeding the whole prison?” Franky teased as the blonde psychologist unloaded a fifth cheeseburger from the bag. Bridget just smiled lightly before pushing a large container of fries towards the inmate. Unable to resist, she popped one into her mouth and was immediately rewarded with the salty crunch. She hummed at the taste causing Bridget to giggle softly while she sat across the desk unwrapping a burger. Franky quickly popped a couple more into her mouth, chewing softly.  
“You have no idea how amazing this is,” Franky gushed before taking a large bite of the cheeseburger. She quickly wiped away the grease on her lips with a napkin.  
“How have you been?” Bridget asked tentatively picking at her container of fries.  
  
“I see, the food was your way of tricking me into a session, eh?” She scoffed. She hated mind games, and Bridget Westfall was the queen of them. She was tactful and it drove Franky nuts.  
  
“Not at all, Franky. Do you see any of my things out?” Bridget motioned towards her completely empty desk. All of her normal supplies had been moved to make room for their lunch.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m just sick of all this sympathy from everyone. Ms. Bennet’s has let me stay in the education centre passed call for the last two nights. The women keep bringing shit to my cell,” Franky rubbed her tired eyes at the memory of the packages of chocolate left on her desk.  
  
“They’ll settle down, and things will go back to normal.” Bridget had seen it in every correctional facility she worked in. Word of Franky’s attack had spread like wildfire as she was escorted out of the garden shed with the trail of blood all down her track pants. Women didn’t take vicious assaults lightly. Bridget could only imagine how the acts of kindness made the inmate feel completely powerless.  
  
“What’s normal in this place?” Franky asked finishing off the last of her fries. Bridget nodded in response. “How are you? Staying out of the Freaks way?”  
  
“The Freak?” Bridget’s eyebrows creased in confusion.  
  
“That’s what they’re calling Ferguson now. You were right about her, she’s a player.” Franky crossed her arms over her chest leaning back in her chair. “She would have kept me in the slot for god knows how long if it hadn’t been for you. Thanks again, by the way,” she added softly. “But you’re keeping your head down, yeah?” She implored yet again.  
  
“Why do you ask?” Bridget had never been on the receiving end of Franky’s protection, but she knew implicitly that Franky would fight hard to protect those she cared about. She remembered back to when Sophie Birdsworth was accosted by Lucy Gambarro and her crew in the shower block, and Franky had come to her rescue with a mop handle. Was this her way of showing she cared for Bridget?  
  
“She’s had it in for me since day one, and you defied her. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re first on her hit-list now.”  
  
“Had it in for you?”  
  
“Why else do you think I got reassigned to the kitchen? She planted that gear in Boomer’s cell. There was no way she would have had access to it after that prick...” It still made her chest feel tight thinking about it, and she hadn’t been able to say it out loud.  
  
“Are you absolutely positive?” She asked with her voice low, fearing they could be overheard.  
  
“Do you believe me?” Franky asked barely above a whisper reaching her hand across the desk towards Bridget’s. She touched the woman’s delicate wrist softly with the pads of her fingers. Her eyes were glassed over as if the tears would begin falling at any moment. Bridget nodded. Odd things had been happening around the prison since Joan Ferguson had taken command. Bridget had silently been monitoring the events on a legal pad that she kept locked in her briefcase at all times. A prisoner had made accusations of abuse against Ferguson and no more than a few days later she was packed away to the psychiatric hospital after blinding herself with a pencil. It was too absurd to be coincidence.  
  
Bridget placed her other hand over Franky’s squeezing reassuringly.  
  
“I promise that I will do everything I can to make sure you make parole as soon as possible, but you need to continue seeing me in regular sessions so we can get your hours completed.”  
  
“Well if you keep bringing me food, Gidget,” Franky smiled broadly as the corners of her eyes crinkled. Her joy was contagious and soon Bridget felt her lips being pulled upwards in a grin to match. The inmate hadn’t used her ‘pet name’ in months, for some reason it warmed her to hear the young woman speak it out loud.  
  
“How about let’s settle for coffee?” Bridget winked squeezing Franky’s hand again.  
  
“Would you do this for any of the women?” Franky asked tentatively, biting her bottom lip. The blonde immediately moved her hands away and began throwing the evidence of their lunch into the bin. Franky’s question had been one that had been playing in her mind recently. Would she have smuggled in fast food any of the other women she saw? Why was she doing this for Franky in the first place? She tried to convince herself it was because the woman needed something to cheer her up, but she’d be lying to herself if that was the real reason.  
  
“Honestly? No, I wouldn’t,” Bridget said feeling her face burning from her admission. She was terrified to see where the line of questioning was going. Not for what Franky would ask, but what else she might reveal.  
  
“Thank you. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” Franky nodded softly as she stood from her chair making her way towards the door. “It means a lot, Bridget,” she said before she exited the small office leaving the psychologist a shaking mess. Franky had only ever referred to her by her proper name twice. Once when she had revealed the extent of her relationship with the ex Governor, and now as she gave Bridget the honesty she so desperately sought from the inmate. She loved the way her name sounded rolling off of Franky’s lips almost as much as she loved the little nickname she had been given. She rubbed her face with her trembling hands as she reseated herself in her office chair. If there was one thing she had figured out for herself today, it was that she could no longer lie to herself about the feelings she tried to bury. Franky was not just any other patient in her eyes.


	10. Mockingbird

Somehow Franky had managed finish her study for the day in good spirits. She even walked back to H2 with a smile on her face. The short moment of happiness was pulled away the moment she passed the open door into the unit to be met with immediate silence from the women sitting around the table. She hated knowing when people were talking about her. It reminded her of her childhood when she’d walk in on her friend's parents whispering about her endless supply of bruises. She’d had to pretend like she’d outgrown so many friends because their parents became too curious.  
  
If there was one thing she was good it, it was keeping her head up. She walked over to the small kitchenette to make a cuppa before heading to her cell. She leaned herself against the countertop watching the TV with her arms crossed while she waited for the kettle to heat.  
  
“Where’ve you been all day?” Liz asked knitting away at yet another scarf. She hadn’t spoken a word to her in weeks since she found her daughter Sophie in her cell. She didn’t even give her a chance to explain that she was trying to calm her down after her close call with Juicy Lucy. Franky was never going to touch Sophie in that way. Her sights were set on someone else, and they had been for a long time. She showed Franky what she really thought of her that day; nothing more than a preying dyke. It hurt worse than she was willing to admit. She and Liz were the only original long term-ers left in H2 after watching the endless stream of short sentences come and go until Dors and Boomer. Liz was the one constant as she navigated the tough terrain that was Wentworth Correctional Facility.  
  
“Studying,” she responded with she poured the steaming water into her mug, watching the tea bag slowly turn the liquid dark.  
  
“So you didn’t hear about Bea then?” Liz set her needles down on the table. Franky waited for her to continue. “She’s in medical. Someone bashed her real good in the shower block.”  
  
“Is that your subtle way of asking if I had anything to do with it?” The lump in Franky’s throat returned, and she tried desperately to swallow it away.  
  
“Did you?” Breathe, she silently reminded herself. Somehow the anger stayed at bay deep in her gut. She pulled in gentle waves of air and her vision remained clear as she envisioned the gentle sway of the trees in the wind.  
  
“No. I didn’t,” she said weakly. She tried desperately to blink back the moisture clouding her eyes. Even as she remained calm, she still couldn’t control her tears. It wasn’t anger she was feeling at all; it was sadness. She felt Doreen and Boomer’s eyes on her now, causing her cheeks to burn bright. She had never once allowed herself to cry in front of them. Instead she would wait until the entire unit was silent and she’d pull her pillow over her mouth to mask her sobs. She’d had to be strong for the lot of them for so long. “Look, I may have done a lot of fucked up shit in here, and I’m the one that’s got to live with it. Everything I did was to protect all of you. The drugs, the bashings, everything I did to keep us safe. I thought we were a family. I never had that before. You want me around when it suits you, but the moment I need anyone, you’re gone,” her voice cracked, and the tears streamed down her face lining her cheeks with trails of dark makeup. “I got raped in that shed while you were all right fucking there. Where were you?” Her voice cracked. Suddenly it was as if everything that had happened was finally real.  
  
She looked at each of them before wiping her nose with the heel of her hand, shaking her head.  
  
“I’m done,” she whispered holding her hands up in defeat. Loudly, she dumped the untouched tea in the sink, her stomach turning with disgust. She retreated towards her cell closing the door as the tears continued to fall the worn path down her face and neck. Exhausted, she laid back on her bed to try to cry herself to a sleep devoid of the dreams of him violating her again and again.  
  
Her head was met with an unfamiliar hardness beneath her flattened pillow. She reached underneath expecting to find more gifts of guilt from the women hidden from sight. Instead her hand came to retrieve the solid hardback of a book. She had to blink back her tears in order to properly read the title. Her finger-pads grazed over the raised title several times. ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ had been her favorite novel since being forced to read it in school by her Literature studies teacher. It had been the first book she had read cover to cover. It was so much more than the bullshit chapter books that she’d been assigned in the past about girls with crushes and missing puppies. This book showed the real world that Franky had been all too familiar with. It was the book that set Franky off to the library every Friday night to check out as many books as she could carry. She would devour them over the weekend, leaving her sad bedroom and pissed mother to other worlds dreamed up by authors. They brought her the escape she so desperately needed.  
  
She was greeted with the familiar loopy scrawl on the front cover, and somehow her tears stopped entirely.  
  


Franky,  
  
Knowing you, I’m sure you have read this book already. But if you haven’t, I think you will greatly enjoy it. I couldn’t bear to see you reread ‘Streetcar Named Desire’ one more time.  
Just remember, “You just hold your head high and keep those fists down. No matter what anybody says to you, don’t you let ‘em get your goat. Try fighting with your head for a change.”  
\- Atticus Finch (one of my favorite literary characters of all times).  
  
Sincerely,  
Gidge  


She was smiling from ear to ear as if all was right with the world. Her heart surged with happiness before she turned the first page to begin the book. The brunette’s breathing slowed and relaxed as she read through the pages slowly, taking special note of Bridget’s underlined quotations. The psychologist had gifted her the book from her personal collection. She knew she would have to find someway to thank the woman for all her kindness. It wasn’t long before she fell into a deep sleep, with the book tucked firmly against her chest.


	11. Caught

The first thing that struck Bridget about the young woman’s cell was the size. How could one person survive in such a small space for years on end? Books littered every available surface available. The range of titles made the ends of Bridget’s lips curl upward. There were biographies from Mark Twain to Madonna, and poetry such as the full works of Edgar Allen Poe. The spines were worn and creased from countless reads. The psychologist imagined the young inmate reading into the late hours of the evening desperate for an escape beyond the walls of Wentworth.  
  
It was the pictures lining the bulletin board that took her breath away. Haphazardly pinned to the wall were pictures of beautiful women in a range of poses. Some were enwrapped in passionate kisses, or thrown backwards with their mouths open in ecstasy. Bold tattoos covered their bare skin.  
  
Then her breath was gone instantly as her blue eyes landed on the middle picture. The long length of the woman’s exposed back was bare except for the tight confines of rope that held her arms. Her core was set alight as she scanned the photo in shock.  
  
“Like what you see, Gidge?” She nearly jumped out of her skin as she noticed the inmate leaning against the doorway. Her cheeks burned crimson from being caught. Franky bit her bottom lip in an attempt to hide the wide smile. Bridget had to remind herself to pull in air to her lungs. “Are you making house calls now?” She raised her eyebrows.  
  
“You missed your session today, I was just coming to make sure everything was alright.” And I also wanted to see you, she thought.  
  
“I got stuck talking to my shit lawyer about what happened,” she sighed taking a seat on her bed and rubbing her eyes.  
  
“Did it go well?” Bridget lowered her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard.  
  
“The prick is claiming I came onto him, but I’ve got an entire prison full of character witnesses who can insure that’s a load of bullshit. I told him to take a hike, I’d rather rep myself.”  
  
“Franky,” Bridget scoffed with wide eyes. “Why on earth would you do that?”  
  
“Because he’s a piece of shit, and I can do a better job in my sleep. Don’t you believe me?” Her green eyes looked up through the thick layer of dark makeup.  
  
“I do, you’re brilliant, you just need to be careful. Think about the bigger picture here. You’ll never be able to apply for parole with a charge hanging over you.” Franky nodded softly.  
  
“So you think I’m brilliant, do ya?” she smiled with her tongue peeking through her perfect teeth. Her hands brushed up to rest behind her head. Bridget’s heart skipped in her chest as she noticed the slightly swollen skin of her forearm.  
  
“New tat?” She nodded towards the small spiral softly. Franky held it out for the woman to see. Bridget wrapped her hand around the skin of Franky’s forearm gently inspecting the mark. “Looks painful,” she murmured running the pads of her fingers over the raised skin.  
  
“Well there’s pleasure in pain, Gidge,” Franky winked. “Straight laced psych like you wouldn’t know anything about tattoos, though,” she pulled her arm back slowly.  
  
She wasn’t sure what made her unbutton her blazer and turn her back towards the inmate to reveal the large and intricate bird on her shoulder blade. Franky stood instantly as she took in the work in silence. Bridget watched through the small mirror over her sink as Franky’s jade colored eyes flickered over her skin. Without thinking, the brunette ran her fingertips over the cursive words underneath sending jolts of electricity through Bridget’s body.  
  
“Delete the adjectives,” Franky whispered as she read the words from the book she had fallen asleep reading the night before. “It’s beautiful.”  
  
Bridget pulled her blazer back on and began fixing the buttons just as a knock came at the door. Vera’s petite form stood in the half open doorway. The psychologist could only imagined how it looked.  
  
“Have I interrupted something?” She asked crossing her arms over her starch uniform.  
  
“Ms. Westfall was making sure I wasn’t skeeving out on my appointments,” Franky responded quickly for them.  
  
“Well, the Governor would like to see you, Doyle, now,” her eyes glanced between the two women in the cell. Franky nodded, her eyes flashed to Bridget before she followed Vera towards the Governor’s office.


	12. Session 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence

Rumors had always spread quickly among the women, but this particular one ran through the prison like wildfire across the scorched earth. The talk of the supposed relationship between the once top-dog and prison psychologist left Franky’s reputation in even worse shape than she had previously thought possible. The sullen looks disappeared entirely in favor of scoffs and barking. Although Bridget was well respected by the women, she was close enough to a screw, and relations, even rumored, between the staff and women were never well received. She had adjusted to life alone by keeping her head down and focusing on her work and school.  
  
She had just dismissed the rest of the women from kitchen duty to finish the clean up by herself. Truth be told, she’d much rather do twice the work in solitude than deal with the hushed voices of them talking about her. She had just begun to wipe down the surfaces of the metal workspace when she felt her body being forced to bend against the coolness by a hand on the back of her neck. She opened her lips to scream and was immediately silenced with a washcloth in her mouth. Her body shook with fear as her mind flashed back to the events of her assault.  
  
“So you’re fucking her then?”  
  
Franky’s frightened eyes looked up to see Juice standing by with the shackled knife in her hand. She brought it to Franky’s neck causing the woman to whimper pathetically. She frantically tried to shove against the force restraining her, only to be shoved forward, her pelvic bone shrieking in pain. Franky shook her head repeatedly as her breath came in pants through her nose.  
  
“If we find out you’re lying, we may need to give you a reminder of what happens to laggers. You wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened in the shed, do ya Franky?” She brushed her hand over Franky’s cheek softly forcing her to look back towards Stella’s hand. The woman held a screwdriver in her hand, running it down the length of Franky’s back. She squeezed her eyes shut, causing her tears to fall, preparing for the worst. Just when she had almost succumbed to her fate, Bridget’s beautiful face appeared at the entrance to the kitchen followed by Vera and two other guards. Instantly the pressure against her was lifted as the women stepped back quickly to be dealt with by Vera and the other guards. The psychologist’s hand gripped Franky’s shoulder softly leading her out of the kitchen and towards her office in absolute silence.  
  
Once they had finally reached the sanctuary of the office, Bridget’s arms pulled her into a gentle hug as she swayed softly. Franky’s sobs racked her body loudly as she attempted to slow her breathing back to normal.  
  
“Get me out of this fucking place,” she begged, her red eyes looking down towards the psych. Bridget’s face was painted in sadness.  
  
“I think you should go into protection,” she advised softly ushering Franky towards the large windows. Franky’s eyes took in the view of the outside world, and her heart rate slowed gradually. She pressed her forehead against the glass, closing her tired eyes. The psychologist sat down in the chair nearby running a comforting hand over Franky’s arm before pulling it away quickly. Apparently the rumors had spread to staff as well.  
  
The inmate sat with her legs pulled up, wiping her tears against the worn sleeves of her sweatshirt. Franky shook her head in response to Bridget’s plea.  
  
“Franky, what’s going to happen next time someone tries to come after you?” She knew trying to reason with the woman in her state was going to be difficult, but she would try with everything she had.  
  
“I’ll fucking kill them,” the inmate replied honestly. “I’m not going to sit around like some weak piece of shit. If they come after me, I will defend myself.” The wall that had been demolished in the last few weeks with the prisoner was forming its protective boundary back around the woman. Her jade colored eyes remained cold.  
  
“Let’s try to be reasonable here. Think of all the progress you’ve made,” she whispered. Franky scoffed shaking her head. She reached her hand out to touch over the woman’s knee to offer some level of comfort, but Franky’s form was up pacing around the small office like a frightened animal with wild eyes. “You’re not a killer, Franky,” spoke low and evenly.  
  
Suddenly Bridget was trapped in her chair as Franky’s arms rested on either side, effectively trapping her in. Her face was unrecognizable as she stared at the woman in front of her. Bridget continued breathing evenly.  
  
“Why do you care so much?” Deep down, Bridget knew the answer, and a bright woman like Franky had understood long ago. The psychologists bright blue eyes pooled with tears of her own. Carefully she reached out to brush her hand over Franky’s flushed cheek, her thumb brushing over her lips.  
  
“Because you’re a good person,” she answered softly. Franky’s face turned away from the touch as soon as the blonde had finished her words.  
  
“I’m not a good person, Bridget. You don’t know anything about me. What I’ve done.” Franky’s tears pooled down her face onto her heaving chest. Her body straightened as she paced, running her hands through her dark hair.  
  
“I know you’re not a killer.” The psychologist stayed posted in her seat, taking care not to give Franky any cause for alarm.  
  
“Yes I am!” She had backed herself into the corner of the room, her sobs leaving her almost incomprehensible.  
  
“Well then who have you killed Franky?” 

The box she had been desperately trying to hold shut had finally broken open. All of the horrible dark secrets she had hidden inside, poured out. She began speaking without a filter detailing the terrible things she had done while trying to keep her head above water. She told her about Su Yung, the poor girl who died at Franky’s feet all because she wanted the heroin trapped inside her.  
  
“And I fucking killed Meg Jackson!” she revealed exasperated. The blood on her hands was now visible to the only woman who had ever seen the good in her.  
  
Bridget’s mouth was dry as she fought to form words. She opened her lips to speak, but no sound came out. The records had been all over the news about the brutal killing of Wentworth’s former Governor. A shiv to the chest had stopped her life instantly, leaving her to bleed out on the cement floor of the prison by one of the women she spent years protecting. Franky had been the one who ended her life. She had killed her.  
  
“I did it, and I’m the one who has to live with it. You can’t fix this, Gidge. You can’t fix me,” She sunk back to the floor of the office, pulling her legs to her chest. Franky knew she had ruined the one last link keeping her chained to sanity.  
  
“You can’t say anything more or I’ll have to report it.” The psychologist managed to stutter out. Her chest felt as if a rubberband had snapped inside of her.  
  
“Still think I’m a good person?” Franky laughed through her tears.  
  
“I think you need to absorb what happened here today. You started to trust.”  
  
“Came at a hell of a price,” Franky mumbled as she wiped her eyes and rose on her shaky legs. Her eyes stayed on the toes of her dirty converses as she exited the psychologist's office, unable to bear seeing the look of disappointment painted in her sad blue eyes.


	13. Isolation

Franky had never felt so alone in her life, even through years of abuse at the hands of her mother, terrible foster homes, and nearly three years in prison. At least her charges for stabbing her rapist had been finally dropped after her rape kit had been reviewed. She found herself feeling almost ghost-like as she drifted silently through the halls of Wentworth she once ruled. Eye contact with anyone instantly made her feel uncomfortable, so she had taken to walking with her head down glancing at her worn shoes.  
  
Bridget had cancelled all their further appointments. Although it wasn’t surprising, it still manage to hurt worse than any beating she had received in years. The meeting had been brief and cold. Bridget recommended her to an external psych that came once a week. She put it off on their rumored relationship, but Franky knew why she was really being passed on. Bridget Westfall had given up on her just like every other person in her life. Just like her father, Miranda, and Erica. She had seen what monster lay lurking in the shadows, and she was gone. The worst of it was, she was gone from Franky’s life yet she wasn’t gone from the prison. The inmate continued to see her on a regular basis walking the grounds or leading group sessions in the library as she studied. She felt invisible as Bridget refused to make eye-contact or acknowledge her presence. It wasn’t the first time she had been written off, but it still hurt like fucking hell. She continued to see another psych to complete her hours and get her parole. He wasn’t anything like Bridget. There was no warmth or caring in his tone or advice. He was spitting responses straight from his counseling textbook, and Franky couldn’t even bring herself to care. 

 

 

Bridget knew that separating herself from Franky would destroy the woman, but she saw no other way possible to save her. The rumors had only worsened, and Vera was watching her like a hawk. She knew it best to dismiss their sessions and refer Franky to the other psychologist. She also knew that it was the only thing she could do in order to keep her career. Twenty some odd years in corrections, and she had never been at a loss with a patient. Her judgement with Franky had been questionable at best for a long time, and she had let it continue against her brain’s several shouts of disapproval.  
  
Seeing her around the prison was the worst. Franky had lost every ounce of confidence she once exuded, and Bridget knew it was her fault. If she was ever to escape the confines of Wentworth, the psychologist knew that this was the only way. Why the hell did it have to hurt so goddamn much?  
  
Bridget had been packing up her things from the last group session before the end of the work week.Although she tried not to look, she couldn’t help herself from stealing glances at the woman during the hour-long session. Franky had been tucked back at her usual table writing away as she hunched her shoulders over her work. Franky’s eyes never once glanced up from her writing. Now that Bridget had finally dismissed the women, she was nowhere to be seen. Bridget had dismissed her guard to escort the women back in hopes she could steal a few minutes without watchful eyes to talk to Franky  
  
Suddenly Bridget felt herself being grabbed from behind and shoved roughly against the whiteboard covered wall, her hands being held behind her back. Her breath was gone from her lungs leaving her unable to scream for a guard or assistance. Tina had her pinned with a shiv pressed against her pounding jugular vein. Her crew had guard of the doors as she began to speak. Instantly Bridget knew she was being targeted for her recent advice to Governor Ferguson of the recent drug influx.  
  
“Where’s your protection, screw?” Tina asked pressing the shiv harder down against her neck causing Bridget to gasp in pain as her eyes slammed shut. The pressure was gone in an instant Tina was ripped away from behind her. Bridget turned quickly to see Franky holding a pool cue against Tina’s throat cutting off her air supply. She struggled to no avail against the much stronger woman.  
  
“Fuck off,” Franky warned the fast approaching crew. She squeezed the cue harder against Tina’s neck causing her to choke loudly. They were out the door instantly without another word. The brunette removed the pressure and pushed the woman to the ground. The woman sucked air into her lungs greedily. “If you ever go near her again, I’ll fucking kill you,” Franky threatened pressing the handle of the cue against her back. “Got it?” She waited for her response. Tina nodded scrambling to get to her feet. “Now get the fuck out of here,” Franky dismissed her with a look of pure hatred on her face. It was the first time Bridget had seen what the woman was truly capable of. As quickly as the look had appeared on her face, it had all but disappeared as she approached Bridget carefully.  
  
“You’re bleeding. We need to get you to medical.” Franky pressed her hand against the wounded skin.  
  
“I-it’s okay. It’s just a scratch.” Bridget managed to stutter her entire body was still shaking with fear.  
  
“Are you sure?” the brunette’s eyebrows creased with concern. 

And then without a second thought, Bridget kissed her.


	14. Contact

The feel of the psychologist’s soft lips had caused Franky to freeze up immediately. Her body continued to respond, deeping, as her brain shouted loudly reminding her who she was lip-locked with. She pushed Bridget away lightly and took several steps backwards until her legs bumped into the small table behind her.  
  
“Franky, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” The blonde quickly sent herself into recovery mode. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered again covering her face to mask the tears in her eyes.  
  
“Nah, fuck that. You don’t get to apologize. You threw me away like a piece of trash because you don’t know what the fuck to do with me. You can go to hell.” Franky stated much weaker than she had anticipated. What was it about this woman that made every bit of her usual bravado disappear? Was it the fact she had seen through her facade since day one? It wasn’t as if the kiss wasn’t wanted; just completely unexpected. She wanted to hate Bridget for giving up on her, but seeing the way the glassy hue took over her crystal blue eyes made it nearly impossible.  
  
“Franky, that is not why I stopped our sessions, please don’t even think that for a second.” The blonde ventured to take a step closer, minimizing the distance between them.  
  
“Why else would you pawn me off on that stupid prick?” Franky crossed her arms protectively across her chest.  
  
“Is it really not obvious by now? Everything I’ve done. Everything I’ve risked. I’ve never broken any procedures until…” Her voice softened as she didn’t dare speak the truth out loud. Until you came along.  
  
“So you want to fuck me or something?” Franky scoffed, rolling her eyes before they came back to land on Bridget’s face. The middle aged woman looked utterly distraught and confused as a lone tear trailed down her face. She made no attempt to brush it away, instead letting it fall like a war wound. The inmate’s chest tightened instantly.  
  
“Franky. I had to stop our sessions because of my feelings for you. It was unprofessional the way I was acting, and it wasn’t fair to you. You deserve someone who is unbiased and objective, and I’m afraid I can’t be. If the parole board has any idea the things I have done, it could ruin your chances. I could never live with myself knowing it was my fault a brilliant woman like you was stuck here because of my actions.” The honesty poured out of her with ease and suddenly the weight had finally been lifted.  
  
Franky’s lips curled into a small smile as she walked towards the bookshelves motioning with a nod for Bridget to follow. Once they were safely tucked between the shelves, Franky leaned in with piercing jade eyes.  
  
“So it’s not because of what I told you?” She asked barely above a whisper. Bridget shook her head instantly.  
  
“Never,” She answered softly.  
  
“Do you promise?” The brunette repeated brushing her knuckles against Bridget’s. Instantly, the psychologist laced their fingers together giving the young woman a reassuring squeeze. “It was an accident. I thought she was-”  
  
“You don’t owe me any explanation. Franky, I’m not going anywhere. You’ve fought hard to better yourself in here against all odds. Your past is just that, past. It doesn’t change how I feel about you right now,” the crystal blue eyes never left Franky’s for an instant.  
  
“Do you miss me?” She asked wrinkling her nose towards the shorter woman. Instantly she was smirking with her eyes flashing down to her boots. Taking a chance, Franky let the pad of her thumb brush over the soft skin of Bridget’s bottom lip.  
  
“Franky we can’t-” she warned in bated breath.  
  
“Just once, I wasn’t ready for the first one. Please?” She begged leaning down almost closing the small space between the two women. Even at such close proximity, Bridget could see the delicate pout of Franky’s bottom lip. She waited poised for Bridget’s final say.  
  
“Once,” was all she was able to mutter before the brunette’s lips were against hers in a deep embrace. It was short and gentle, everything Franky was convinced she didn’t like. And yet here she was breathless from a mere gentle kiss. Their fingers stayed laced together as Franky’s forehead pressed down against Bridget’s.  
  
“I thought you gave up on me for a second,” the tall woman revealed a few moments later while she tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind the woman’s ear. She shook her head immediately.  
  
“Never. I mean that,” she added truthfully. The broad smile that broke across the inmates face was truly breathtaking. Bridget wasn’t sure she’d ever known Franky could be capable of such joy. Then without a warning, Franky had broken the close embrace and was reaching the top shelf of books retrieving a couple titles.  
  
“These ones?” Franky asked her just was Vera stepped in front of their row. Bridget took the books in hand before pointing to an additional title that lay just out of her reach.  
  
“That one there too, if you don’t mind,” she added as Franky reached up grabbing another hardback. “Thank you, Franky,” Bridget nodded. Franky nodded slightly moving to go back to her abandoned work space.  
  
“Doyle, this came for you,” Vera held out the already opened envelope eyeing Dr. Westfall as she continued to scour the shelves. “Dr. Westfall, the Governor would like to see you in her office, if you’re through.”  
  
“I’ll just drop these off in my office, and be right there,” she nodded while Vera turned and left.  
  
“What is it?” Bridget asked keeping her distance, her heart still pounding from almost being caught. Emerald eyes danced over the whitepages quickly shaking her head in shock. “Franky?” she ventured a step forward.  
  
“My hearing’s in two weeks,” she managed to squeak out in astonishment. “I could be out of here in three months,” Franky added, her eyes brimming with tears.  
  
“I’m so proud of you,” it took every bit of strength for Bridget not to wrap her arms around the woman. “You better start writing that statement,” she smiled with a wink in Franky’s direction.  
  
“You better be working on that hot car, Gidge,” the brunette teased.  
  
“I drive a Porsche,” the psychologist fired back as she walked towards the exit.  
  
“Fuck,” Franky muttered under her breath watching the woman’s hips as she sauntered away. "Three months," she shook her head, gathering up her belongings, her heart swelling with absolute joy. Suddenly, things weren't looking so bad after all.


	15. Closing in

Franky was up late reading in her cell yet again trying to gain any insight on parole statement preparation from the stacks of the library. While she hadn’t officially begun writing her statement on paper, she had a pretty good idea of how to plead her case to the parole board, even if she only had three days remaining before her meeting. She was cutting it close, she knew, but she’d used her daytime study hours trying to locate any precedents that may be able to save Boomer from serving out a full additional seven years. Ferguson was on to her after she had filed the initial appeal paperwork for Boomer after her trial. She couldn’t risk getting caught during one of Fergie’s new personal spot searches. Franky wouldn’t put it past the freak to find something in her cell that could destroy any hope of an early release and a chance to see Bridget outside the bars of Wentworth Correctional Centre.  
  
She was concentrating so deeply, she did not hear the door to her cell open behind her while she wrote at her messy desk. The soft hand against her bare shoulder was enough to scare her back to reality. She nearly jumped out of her skin fearing she’d find the Freak ready to take her revenge. The brunette had not expected to see Bridget after hours, let alone Bridget carrying a box of things from her office.  
  
“Gidge, no,” She stood shaking her head in disbelief. “What the fuck did she do?” Just when she thought the Freak couldn’t get worse, she was wrong.  
  
“Someone filed official paperwork against my relationship with you. It’s unfounded, but I have to go Franky. It’s not going to stop here,” she tried to soothe.  
  
“That’s complete bullshit. Stay,” she pleaded weakly as she squeezed her hands over Bridget’s.  
  
“I can’t-” the blonde’s head shook with eyes towards the grey floor of the small cell.  
  
“So that’s it then?” Franky’s arms crossed across her pajama top, even though it did nothing to stop the pain that was rising in her chest.  
  
“I have no choice,” Bridget whispered in a hushed tone careful not to disturb the slumbering inmates nearby. She set the box down against Franky’s unoccupied chair.  
  
“Yeah, you do. You could stay and fight, but instead you’re just going to walk away. What about my parole hearing? I’m never going to get out of here,” she was spiraling down yet again.  
  
“You’ll be right. I will be at your hearing. Then I promise you, you will see me again outside those gates.”  
  
Franky shook her head, feeling any ounce of sanity she had left, leaving her.  
  
“Don’t make promises you can’t or clearly don’t want to keep. If you cared for me at all, you wouldn’t leave me. ” History always found a way of repeating itself. Franky Doyle, the unlovable girl who waited, would be left to wait yet again.  
  
Soft lips quickly trapped hers in a heated kiss, and somehow, the ache she was beginning to feel dulled to a whisper. Bridget held her in a tight embrace.  
  
“I promise that I am not leaving you behind. I need you to trust me when I say that, Franky,” she whispered firmly, as her lips were still pressed delicately against the taller woman. Franky could feel the tears burning down her cheeks as she fought to hold them off. “Do you trust me?” Bridget cupped the brunettes face in her hands, managing to wipe the hot tears away with the pads of her thumbs. The touch allowed her see the fear and hurt in those jade colored eyes.  
  
“I trust you,” she squeaked out feeling the tears continue to fall as she sucked air into her lungs. One of Bridget’s hands dropped down to settle on her chest.  
  
“Slow breaths,” she reminded the inmate who nodded in reply. “Oh, Franky,” she sighed wrapping her arms around the taller woman, successfully cocooning her in a warm embrace. “Head up and fists down, yeah?” she reminded. Franky managed to smile weakly and nod in response. Their time was running up.  
  
“I’ll see you on the other side, Gidget,” she wrinkled her nose at the blonde before releasing her from her arms, and retrieving the box for her and setting it in her arms. Bridget accepted with a somber smile before turning towards the door of the cell. Briefly, she paused to glance over her shoulder to look at the inmate one last time. It was one of the rare occasions she had seen the woman without a stitch of makeup darkening her eyelids.  
  
“I like you without the warpaint. You look softer,” she smiled softly. Franky could feel the blush creeping on her cheeks.  
  
“I don’t need warpaint to hide anymore, you found me,” she explained. Bridget smiled brightly at the brunette before exiting the cell to make the trek out of Wentworth for the last time as their employee. She knew that Franky would be alright, and that she’d plead her case eloquently in front of the board. They’d see the progress that the young woman had made, and know that she was repentant for the acts she had performed. They’d see her dedication to bettering herself and breaking the cycle of anger. Franky would be a free woman in a matter of months. As long as Joan Ferguson didn’t have anything to say about it, that is.


End file.
